


Souls Alike

by AvaKelly



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Action, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Double Cap, Finding home, Flashbacks, Friendship, Grief/Mourning, Happy Ending, Investigations, M/M, Man Out of Time, Memory Loss, Mentions of Suicidal Thoughts, Mistaken Identity, Oblivious, cap!bucky, semi-linear narrative
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-26
Updated: 2016-08-28
Packaged: 2018-08-11 04:41:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 30,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7876900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvaKelly/pseuds/AvaKelly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Steve and Bucky used to switch roles during the war. It was Steve who fell from the train and Bucky who brought down the Valkyrie. Seventy years later, the world still believes Steve Rogers was in the plane when they defrost Bucky Barnes is his Captain America suit. In 2012, Bucky begrudgingly embarks on a journey of re-discovery as he takes up the role of Steve Rogers, finds friends, a home, and the part of his soul that fell into an icy ravine.<br/>~<br/><i>Do you know what a soul is?</i><br/>~<br/><a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/7892938">Art by CapCarterandSarge</a><br/><a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/10435269">Art by Snowflakesandangels</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Future Is a Thing with Thorns

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone o/
> 
> For those of you who don't know me, I am Ava. I write things. 
> 
> Many thanks (and cake) to Flor and Hraf for their valuable feedback and beta; to those who have patiently listened to me whine about this story (the Cat and the Catnip: you guys get cupcakes); to those randomly subjected to my dramatic complaining about deadlines and the stress. My appreciation to the artists, CapCarterandSarge and Sealcat, who worked on accompanying art (which will be posted soon, keep an eye out for it).
> 
> Enjoy & thank you for reading! Feedback appreciated.

_Do you know what a soul is? It's that thing that tells us apart and I think you're my soul._

_You're not making any sense. Go back to sleep._

~

2012

The air is warm; city sounds are drifting in from the open window; and Bucky feels like he's waking up from a comfortable afternoon nap. Only, it shouldn't... something in the back of his mind tells him there should be ice, sharp and piercing and painful, all around.

There's a game on the wireless.

The city buzzes with life.

New York is safe.

The world is safe from Schmidt's plan.

With an inhale, Bucky opens his eyes. The fan on the ceiling turns slowly as it comes into focus, while his senses adjust to the light, to the noise.

The crowd cheers and the commentator says– what?! But the door opens and someone walks in. She looks like a sergeant? A secretary?

Something is _off_ kilter.

Her clothes are peculiar. Her hair and makeup. Bucky's watched his sister put it on countless times, and it never looked like this.

"Where am I?" he asks over her attempt at a greeting.

Her reply is false and Bucky's heart pumps heavily behind his ribs. Did the plane get to New York? Did they lose? Is this why they built a fake room with a fake woman and a fake wireless... he doesn't waste time though, runs through the wall. And well, good thing that his gut was right and the wall was fake.

Bucky runs, as fast as his protesting muscles and weak legs let him. He runs, breaths aching in his chest, the colorful lights outside hurting his eyes. He runs until he's surrounded by black cars and an imposing man in a long coat and an eyepatch steps in front of him.

"At ease, soldier," the man says and Bucky almost takes stance, but stops himself.

Around them, more men in suits are keeping passers-by at bay and Bucky feels the air thinning around him.

"I'm sorry about the deception, Cap," the man continues, "but we thought it best to break it to you slowly."

Cap... Bucky's limbs tremble as he tries to keep himself steady. They think he's– they think–

"Break what," he breathes.

"You've been asleep. For over seventy years."

And that's just.

The most ridiculous thing he's ever heard. Yet, his surroundings look like the future, bright and shiny, even in the twilight.

"You gonna be all right?" comes next and Bucky swallows. "Captain. Rogers, you still with us?"

It only takes a fraction of a moment, but all Bucky can think of is how they think he's Steve, how Steve is _gone_ , how he should be here, alive, in the future, how it should be _Bucky_ the one left behind, and Peggy... Steve would be _devastated_ about Peggy. Hell, Bucky is, too.

"Yeah," he rasps. "I just... I had a date."

~

1943

Bucky is in the middle of his best impersonation of Col. Phillips when Morita says "Bet you can't do Rogers."

Morita will be sorry he ever did, because nobody is better at Steve than Bucky. He barks a few orders, fist on his hip and chin high, but Morita insists it's not authentic enough. Next thing he knows, the bottle of cheap scotch is halfway gone, the boys are too cheery for how early their go-time is tomorrow – which is actually why they're drinking in the middle of the afternoon here at the London base instead of the evening – and Bucky is dressed in Steve's suit, cowl and shield and boots, even though he's the sober one here.

"So that's what you're doing when I'm not around," Steve's deep voice startles Bucky and causes another wave of laughter from the guys.

"We fight," Bucky returns, looking upwards with determination, "for freedom!"

It makes Steve laugh in that deep way that shakes his entire upper body, and his hand goes to his nose to minimize his gasping, like it did before. Even though he doesn't need it anymore, now that his lungs are fully working.

"For freedom," Dum Dum raises his glass and it's met with agreements.

Bucky flips the shield in the air before he slips his hand through the handles.

"Gentlemen–" he starts, but is interrupted by a bang on the door.

"Where in the hell is Rogers," comes from outside in Phillips' voice.

Steve jumps across the room, throws himself in the first empty bunk there, and pulls the blanket all the way over his head just as the door opens.

"Great, you're already dressed," Phillips tells Bucky. "Let's move."

Bucky's mouth opens and closes, unsure how to say that he's been joking around with a superior's uniform, a quite punishable offense. He steals a glance at the bed Steve's currently occupying. The blanket trembles slightly.

Ah. The bastard. He's having fun with this.

Bucky growls through his teeth and walks out of the room with the colonel.

"I know, I know," Phillips says with an uncharacteristic sigh as they move down the hallway, "neither of us wants to do this, but we gotta send something home once in a while, keep the men inspired."

He has to clear his throat and hope he gets that downward tilt in Steve's voice from the first try.

"Yes, sir," he says.

Phillips raises an eyebrow at him and for a second Bucky thinks he's fucked. "What's gotten into you today, Rogers? You seem well behaved."

"Just doing my duty, sir."

The colonel's frame jerks backward in surprise. "Right," he mutters, but there's a pleased little smile on his face as he turns to open a door for them. Bucky's never spent that much time with him so far, but it looks like Phillips is capable of having more than one expression of eternal crankiness.

There are a bunch of reporters there, waiting to ask questions and take photographs of Captain America. War hero. Inspiration for all.

And this might have started as a joke, but he does his best.

Cap is too meaningful to mock.

Steve, on the other hand... oh, he's gonna pay.

But by the time Bucky is back, everyone's asleep and Steve looks tired enough, even in slumber, that Bucky doesn't have the heart to wake him. They're scheduled to leave for the Austrian front in less than twelve hours. He wonders how much work Steve actually does, between their fighting and doing these things, providing hope.

Neither is less important, Bucky realizes, and he falls asleep wishing he could share some of the burden.

~

2012

It's been four months in this place already and Bucky's been prodded and poked and analyzed to hell and back before being sent off to a 'remote location' to 'adjust'. Bah, as if he couldn't see what they were doing, separating him from the population in case he was a threat.

Truth is, being alone in a cabin in the middle of the woods gave him time to compose himself and try to gauge his situation.

So they think _he_ is Captain America. Well, he is, in a way. Scratch that, they think he is _Steve Rogers_.

The _entire world_ does.

Bucky picks up one of the history books the agents who brought him here helpfully provided and it opens at the place Bucky's been reading the most recently. It's a picture of him and Steve taken right after they'd returned from a particularly gruesome mission, when they were both high on the relief that they'd all got to base in one piece. Steve's ankle was sprained that day, that's why he'd taken Bucky's place, keeping watch up high from behind a sniper rifle, that's why their uniforms were swapped.

In the photograph, Steve is smiling at Bucky standing to his right on the page while Bucky's grinning at the camera. Beneath it, the description informs the reader that the persons depicted are Steve Rogers and James Barnes, left to right. Bucky shakes his head at it. Well, Ma Rogers did say, more than once, that he and Steve were too much alike for their own good.

On the other side, the next page shows another photograph of Steve Rogers in training. But the eyes on the page are Bucky's, the thin frame and gaunt face are his. They were his, two months after arriving on the front lines, when he couldn't keep down even one meal. He looks small and frail in this.

Steve used to be smaller, with determination on his face instead of sadness.

Yet there's no picture of him being himself, from before, anywhere.

He keeps wondering, why didn't Peggy or Colonel Phillips say anything? Why'd they let the charade go on...

He's impatient to get out of this place so he can find the answers he needs. His bag’s all packed, there are agents scheduled to arrive and take him to an apartment they rented for him in New York. He was offered work with SHIELD, but Bucky's never been much of a soldier, so he turned them down.

Now he wonders if he should've accepted, as a way to dig for information. But, until he's exhausted all the resources this brand new marvel that is the internet offers him, he can bide his time. After their last conversation, he’s quite sure that Director Fury would welcome him should he change his mind.

The internet. Connecting the world. Fount of knowledge.

At first, he was… dumbstruck, for lack of a better word. A wireless that wasn't just for listening. Or for sound. Navigating, that was a good word for it, an epiphany while slurping cold coffee, that yes, he could be transported to the other side of the planet with one touch. Even if just figuratively. The more he used it, the more it felt like this is a most miraculous invention, an inorganic being, as massive as the world, feeding upon it, but keeping it alive in a way biology never would. Verne must be proud.

Bucky raises an eyebrow at the computer in the corner. Well, the future doesn't entirely disappoint, after all.

~

1943

"Come on, Buck, please. Please, I can't do it," Steve says, fingers clutching at Bucky's arm where they sit next to each other on the lumpy mattress of the bunk.

They've gotten back just this morning, ate, cleaned themselves, slept. Now the guys are in their favorite London pub, while Bucky's been waiting on Steve to finish up some duties for which Phillips has kept him behind.

"Please, I don't wanna be their monkey again, not today."

Bucky snorts, looking at his own hands, cuts and bruises all over his knuckles. That last fight was a bad one. Steve disappeared behind some rubble and came back covered in brains, holding a dead kid in his arms. It always hits Steve hard, when he can't save someone, especially when they're young like that.

And now some politician wants to 'see what he's paying for.' Hypocrites. They should be here fighting instead.

"So you want me to be a monkey instead?" Bucky asks, but it's soft and he knows he's smiling, because the second Steve said the first 'please' Bucky knew he wouldn't be able to say no.

Steve's smiling back, cautious, hopeful.

"Sure, punk," Bucky turns to face him fully, pats his shoulder with his free hand, and Steve gives him one of his thankful hugs.

One that doesn't last nearly as long as Bucky wants, but he can't say that. Won't. Ever.

Just like he can never say no to Steve.

It's not because of Peggy. Or not entirely because of Peggy. She's an impressive lady and Steve would be lucky to get her. If he managed to open his mouth and actually ask her on a date directly. It's the rest of what Steve now has. Health. A purpose. He seems less angry, too. Bucky would never rob him of his future with these _feelings_ that sometimes overflow so much, it's painful. But he'll keep himself in check.

So Bucky goes to meet these politicians wearing the Captain's suit.

However, he insists on keeping the cowl on. There's still blood on it, and he's pleased that it's causing some recoil. The metallic twang of it, doubled by burnt gunpowder is enough to turn a soldier's stomach, but now Bucky revels in it.

It's even better when he realizes the sheer amount of satisfaction Phillips is radiating.

Peggy arrives at some point during the evening and they barely exchange two words before her face sets in what can only be a murderous look. Bucky's too afraid to check. Yet, she plays along, says nothing.

And follows him when he leaves.

"What the bloody hell were you thinking!" she starts just as the door to the Commandos' assigned space is closed behind them. Her voice is not loud enough to attract attention, but serious enough to get everyone in the room to pause in their activities. Looks like the others are all back from their evening out.

"Don't you _ever_ do that again, Sergeant," Peggy adds, a finger poking him in the chest.

"I asked him to," Steve says as he approaches. "It's my fault."

Peggy huffs, crossing her arms. "It won't be you who'll be in front of a martial court if he gets caught."

Steve's quiet and Bucky scrambles to get the stupid cowl off. He can't breathe.

"Makes sure nobody comes in," drifts through the opening door, followed by a 'yessir' and Phillips is in the room before Bucky can duck.

He takes a steady look around, arms crossed behind his back, before settling on Steve. "Care to explain?"

"I ordered it, sir," Peggy tells him. When Phillips says nothing, she straightens, taking a deep breath.

Bucky exchanges a look with Steve. They can't let her do this.

"An experiment," Peggy adds.

"It's working so far," Falsworth raises to his feet.

"Major?" Phillips turns to him.

"Agent Carter wanted to know if we could keep the idea of Captain America working should Rogers meet his untimely demise."

Bucky's never thought of it that way, and neither did Steve, by the looks of it.

"When you get a tank," Falsworth continues, "you don't bury it with the operator. You train more operators."

A hum comes from Phillips, but it sounds more like a growl. "I do like his sense of humor better," he mutters, shrugging a shoulder back into Bucky's general direction.

He is silent again for a bit more, but then he looks at the ceiling before strolling toward the door.

"Fine, you can have your experiment," he says. "Everything classified," he tells Peggy, "report directly to me. Not a word outside this room," and he throws them all one last look before he's gone.

An unison of held breaths is released after the door clicks closed.

"Thank you, Major," Peggy says.

Falsworth waves his hand. "Get your hands on some of the good tea for me and we're even."

"Done," Peggy returns.

When Bucky shifts his attention back to Steve, he's met with worry.

"I'm sorry," Steve whispers.

"It's fine."

Bucky smiles and Steve returns it and Bucky would still do anything for Steve. Even pretend to be a hero.

~

2012

He's taking it back. The future disappoints _massively_.

His hands are shaking as he holds onto the weapon powered by the Cube's blue energy, the same kind of weapon that threw Steve into that ravine, that took Steve away from him.

The telltale pricking behind his eyes and in the center of his nose makes him blink rapidly, but he pushes the memory aside.

For now.

There are more important things to do right now. First, there are alien gods on Earth, the Cube is missing, and Fury is following in Schmidt's footsteps. Bucky shivers with the phantom pain of being on Zola's table. Technically, it's been decades, but for him it happened just a couple of years ago and it still shakes him to the core every time he’s reminded of it.

He used to be terrified, back then, that he'd turn into Schmidt, his outside form mangled as whatever Zola had pumped into him worked its way through his muscles. And he felt it: the extra power, the stamina, the way he'd been able to keep up with Steve.

He turned into _Steve_ instead, and he’ll be damned if he lets Fury exploit what Steve - and Bucky, until recently - died for.

He runs through the corridors of the helicarrier with his evidence until he's back in Stark's laboratory. He's relieved when Tony is just as upset as he is and lays on Fury for his misdeeds.

But then he starts on Bucky, no actually he starts on Steve, whom Tony thinks is standing in front of him. He's saying cruel, mean things, that hurt more than they should, and Bucky lashes out. The entire team gathers, one by one, adding to the arguments, causing chaos, yelling, _yelling_ , until...

Until the world hurts with the force of the explosion that shakes the aircraft.

Everything happens too fast for Bucky to properly take in, but he does manage to help Tony with keeping the helicarrier from plummeting into the ocean.

~

Next thing he knows, he's joining the guy that almost killed them all and the most feared assassin of SHIELD - if the gossip he's overheard is anything to go by - to throw himself head first into a fight with aliens.

_Aliens!_

He's in an honest to heck science fiction novel.

He loves those; he doesn't love this.

No. This is painful and he fights with everything he has, the way Steve would, for all the innocents around them as New York is attacked by beings pouring in through a gaping hole in the sky.

His ribs hurt from overuse, skin tight and most likely bruised too deeply to clear in a day like usual. Wielding the shield always takes a toll on him, but all Bucky has to do is remember Steve's stubbornness and he picks himself up from between bits of mangled cars. Continues. Fights.

~

It's only later, after the battle has been won, that he allows himself to feel the strain.

Later, as they all sit quietly around a table, food necessary but unappealing. Bucky looks at the faces around him. A team, he reckons, and that only serves to remind him how the commandos and their camaraderie is lost. But maybe... maybe he could have it back? If he's stuck in this world, might as well protect it; and if he's going to fight for what's right, like Steve would, might as well _connect_. These five sitting here with him are more likely to provide that sort of understanding that he needs. They're all beings of other worlds, other places, events not much unlike the ones that had brought him to this moment.

"I’d best go see to my brother," Thor says, standing up heavily before he makes his way out. Loki's been under guard at the SHIELD headquarters, shackled and gagged. The gag part seemed unnecessary, but Thor had insisted.

Thor looks weary. Actually, they all look run down. Tony's eyes keep flickering around, tiny movements in tandem with a faint tremble that isn’t going to leave him any time soon. Bucky remembers having felt that way too, for weeks after being rescued from that base.

A brush with death does that.

Agent Romanov... no. Natasha. She seems the most put together, but a sense of apprehension niggles in the back of Bucky's head. She reminds him a little of Peggy, standing defiant in the face of adversity.

Bucky shifts his attention on the other two. They're the most screwed over. Dr. Banner, manipulated into wreaking havoc on the carrier, is sitting there, shoulders hunched into himself, and Bucky's arms curl into his own lap in sympathy. But that's nothing of what Hawkeye must be feeling right now. What was his name? Barton. Clint. His eyes are almost lifeless, dark circles around them. He keeps himself in a slouch, a foot on Natasha's chair, seemingly detached.

Yet. His entire body is tense, his lips press onto each other minutely in the beginnings of grimaces. Bucky looks from Clint to Natasha, both carefully hidden behind masks, unwilling to let vulnerability to the surface. Well, Bucky gets it, they don't know each other, not really, and although fighting for survival does tend to bring people together, it's not that easy to land on the same ground. It takes time and dedication–

Ah, Bucky wants to try and win their friendship.

Clint cranes his neck to look back, where outside the doors of the fast food joint a group of agents await. He blinks slowly, as in resignation, murmuring "Aw, debrief."

"Debrief?" Bruce startles on the other side of the table, suddenly alert, which makes Tony straighten in his chair.

"What, _now_?" Tony asks.

"It's protocol," Natasha returns, voice without inflexion.

"You guys have nothing to worry about," Clint says, "it's me they want." He rubs a finger over a stain on his vest. Could be ketchup. Could be something else. "Maybe they'll let me shower first. At least they let us eat," and a choked off sound follows.

And that... sound so very wrong.

"A shower would be good right now," Bruce mutters, "and a bed."

"I have showers," Tony says, a little too quickly. He catches himself, though, because a little more sedately he adds "and beds." His knee bounces under the table. Bucky can almost see his cogs turning. He's so much like Howard that it sends a shiver through his spine.

More loss. So much loss.

And now Bucky will lose this frail connection that's just starting to form.

"They're waiting for us, Stark," Natasha counters as if it's a done deal.

"We can sneak out the back door," Tony says, a corner of his mouth lifting in  a half-smirk. "Don't tell me your super secret spy skills can't be used to _lie_ your way out of this, mademoiselle."

A fry hits Tony on the forehead. "Be nice," Clint says, preparing to throw another one.

Natasha rolls her eyes, "You can't escape the debrief."

"Watch me," Tony challenges, but then he deflates. "I just wanna sleep," he says, but it sounds like he doubts sleep will be visiting him any time soon.

"I agree. You should at least be entitled to some rest before being grilled," Clint says. "I'll go in, you guys run before they figure you're gone."

"You're not going anywhere," Bucky says and all eyes turn to him.

"Don't be a boy scout, Rogers," Tony starts, "this is–"

Bucky snorts so loudly that Tony snaps his mouth shut. "We're not debriefing right now. Where are those showers?"

"In the tower." Tony throws a thumb over his shoulder. "Or at least what's left of it."

"Good, not far," Bucky says, straightening in his seat. Natasha sends him a sharp look, but he meets it straight on. A beat later, she nods. "What exits do we have–"

"There's a basement," a soft voice says. The lady serving them, wearing 'Sarah' on her name tag - and isn't that nice - doesn't stop from her sweeping as she speaks. "Connects to the next building."

Outside, there's more commotion as Fury strides toward the doors.

"I'll draw the blinds, you go," Sarah says and does just that.

Bucky has to grab Clint by the arm and drag him away while Natasha holds onto Clint’s other side. He finds himself rolling his eyes at Clint. Self sacrificing little punks should never be left to their own devices–and he has to swallow around the painful lump in his throat. Not the time.

They're inside Stark Tower in no time, even though they have to run through debris filled streets on the tails of exhaustion.

~

"Uh... I guess I don't have as many beds as I thought," Tony mutters as he takes in the living spaces at the top of the building.

A chunk of wall is missing, making two bedrooms uninhabitable. The large living room with too little furniture – except for a sofa that looks comfortable enough – is covered in glass shards and has a hole in the center of its floor.

They follow Tony through the corridor until he opens a door. It's a bedroom, still intact, and Bruce rushes through. "I need to be alone," he says before closing the door. A lock clicks into place. Bucky can't fault him.

"I'll sleep here," Clint says, leaning on the wall, but Tony waves an annoyed hand.

He opens one of the last two doors there, wiggles his fingers. "You'll have to share," he says, just as the elevator doors ping open.

"What about you?" Bucky asks.

A tall woman makes her way quickly down the hall. Bucky's read about her, Virginia Potts. He never gets his answer, not verbally anyway, because Ms. Potts, face caught between worry and upset, grabs at Tony's shoulders. A moment later, they're gone through the last set of doors.

Bucky turns to Natasha.

"They're together," she says, shrugging, before she walks into the offered bedroom.

Clint groans as he pushes away from the wall and Bucky's not imagining the slight limp he sees as Clint follows her.

Which just leaves Bucky, in the hallway, unsure of where to go.

"Come _on_ , Rogers!" Natasha calls, startling him into motion.

When he enters the room, Natasha is perched on the edge of an armchair, while Clint is pulling off her boots. Then she stands, a zipper opens down her front, and Bucky turns to give her privacy. Clint seems unaffected, as he stands there, swaying slightly. So they must be used to each other. Hell, the war didn't give him much space either, it's why he knows about that birthmark on Dum Dum's ass, among other things. Bucky shrugs to himself against a muffled thud. Natasha must have dropped her suit on the floor. A door opens and closes, then the spray of water from a shower drifts through.

Clint looks at Bucky, then at the bed, blinking slowly.

"Hey, bed," he says, and takes a few stumbling steps toward it.

The thing is the biggest one Bucky's ever seen. It looks soft and fluffy, like a white cloud. His ribs pang with hurt and Bucky rolls his shoulders.

Clint, at the edge of the mattress now, opens his arms wide and plops onto it, face down. He bounces slightly on it, enough to make Bucky envious. Clint rubs his cheek on the comforter before turning his head toward Bucky with a grin. He pats the space next to him.

"You know you want to," he says, muffled.

Ah hell. Bucky follows his motions and indeed, it's just as soft as he thought it would be. It pulls an unexpected laugh out of him, and Clint pats his shoulder with an uncoordinated hand before they both roll on their backs.

The ceiling is white.

Outside, the city is slowly getting enveloped in the tendrils of dusk, and Bucky watches as the daylight fades.

How long has it been? He's not sure, as he lies there, numb. The sound of water running is still tickling at his ears, soothing in its permanence.

An hour, maybe. Perhaps less.

Next to him, Clint hasn't moved, and Bucky turns his head to be met with unseeing eyes trained at nothing in the space of the room, wet cheeks and a lip bitten so hard, it's close to breaking.

Something sharp passes through the middle of Bucky's chest, slicing him open right into the places he doesn't want to linger on.

Right into a memory of Steve, fourteen, laid on the floorboards of Bucky's room, after he'd been told he might not survive the year. He was brave; so brave, and so stubborn, pushing back cough and tears. Then, the wood was hard against his back but even now with the softness enveloping him, Bucky remembers it as if it happened yesterday. He couldn't stop himself from comforting Steve back then, and he doesn't stop himself now.

"Hey," he breathes, hand wrapping around Clint's shoulder.

A beat, as Clint looks at him, eyes wide, and then he's curling on his side, forehead pressed against Bucky's ribs, sobs shaking his frame, broken bits of words slipping through. It sounds like 'couldn't stop' and 'made me' and 'killed them'.

Bucky wraps an arm around him, rubbing his palm over Clint's arm, unsure of what to say.

To be a weapon.

To be death.

Ripped from everything you are.

He hurts with the knowledge, doubling the sense of loss. He has been forcefully removed, as well, not from himself but from his time, his life. The horror of what Clint must feel right now is foreign to him, but it still shakes him.

He shouldn't have been pulled out of the ice. Should've been allowed to slumber in peace, just like Steve.

With Steve, in a way.

The moment he titled that plane down... he didn't want to be found, rescued, made to live a senseless life.

Which is what he's been forced into, by Fury, by SHIELD.

That incessant pricking is back behind his eyes and Bucky can't stop it anymore. He lets it go, lets the hurt spill.

Steve is gone. Peggy is gone. His world is gone, and he has no purpose.

Clint's fingers scramble against his uniform, right above the bruises on his ribs, pulling Bucky from the edge of the desperation that he's about to fall into.

No, perhaps... maybe he _can_ have a purpose after all. Even if it's just to offer comfort to a fellow soldier.

And he turns, wraps himself around Clint, and lets himself hurt, like he hasn't allowed his body to do since waking up.

It doesn't last long, but it drains him nonetheless.

When he opens his eyes, Natasha is standing there, wrapped in a bathrobe, arms crossed. She looks like she's about to _say_ something, and Bucky can't take any demands for explanations right now. He's raw and open.

But her shoulders slump, right before she shifts closer. Bucky didn't know what he was expecting, but having his boots unzipped and removed wasn't–

He unwinds, helps without sitting up. His hands follow hers as they turn to Clint, plucking off his vest, boots, then his own belt comes off, clips and zippers, and it focuses his mind while misting over the hurt of the day. He's so tired.

"Did you crack a rib?" Natasha asks, voice low, and Bucky looks down at himself, his sides mottled in an angry purple.

"No," he rasps. "What–"

"Ok," comes back in a whisper. "Go to sleep, Steve," and there's warmth around him, Clint's soft breaths puffing against his shoulder.

Steve.

He misses Steve dearly, as he lets his eyes fall closed.

~

1943

"Would you stand still already," Peggy admonishes.

Bucky lets out a pathetic whine and he's not even ashamed of it. The stuff _burns_. Dernier says something in French and Bucky repeats the whine.

"Et voilà: pouf!" Dernier adds, his fingers wiggling at the sides of his own head.

Bucky flips him off and it earns him a very disappointed tut.

Finally, fucking finally, Peggy pushes his head back into the bucket and Bucky is so relieved he almost cries with joy.

"All right, you big child," she says. "All done," and then she rubs at Bucky's head so nicely, it almost makes up for everything.

"Where did you get this stuff anyway?"

"Nous l'avons libéré, bon?"

"I feel like I made a huge mistake," Bucky comments. "I'm blaming Falsworth until the day he dies. And then I'm gonna blame his descendants– Wait, this isn't something used in _bombs_ , is it?"

Dernier laughs loudly, head back. The towel is removed from his head and Peggy steps in front of him, silent laughter making the corners of her eyes crinkle.

Bucky can't help but smile at her.

But then she hands him a mirror.

"I'm gonna kill him."

"Falsworth?" Peggy asks.

"No, Steve. For being blond."

"It's not that bad," she says, but her lips wobble as she tries to abstain from smiling.

Dernier snips his scissors in the air.

Bucky whines again.

~


	2. Homes Aren't Made with Blood

2012

Bucky exhales a groan at the light outside his closed eyelids and stretches his body. The ache in his bones spreads through him in pangs that are somehow both sharp and dull. Everything hurts and the inside of his mouth tastes like something died in it. After a long moment of disorientation, Bucky finally recalls where he is and how he got there. With effort, he opens his eyes, pushes the comforter away, and lifts himself on an elbow. To the right, at the table there, he sees Natasha's and Clint's silhouettes, but he doesn't bother to focus his eyes, not yet anyway.

"Morning, Rogers," Natasha's voice drifts through, with a lilt that sounds almost like a song. It's pleasant to hear.

Bucky blinks, trying to nod but failing.

His entire body is battered as he looks down at himself, torso mottled the most, with bruises that are already discoloring faster than they used to... before. Before the war, before Zola, before the future. With a sigh, he swings his legs over the side of the bed.

Now wait...

"Romanov. Did you take my pants off?"

A chuckle follows, but it's soon replaced with a hiss. Bucky forces himself to focus his eyes. At the table, Clint's straddling a chair backwards. He has a towel wrapped around his middle, hair still wet and dripping onto his shoulders, while Natasha walks around him clad in the bathrobe from last night, cleaning cuts and bruises. It doesn't look serious, most of the damage on his arms. But then Clint shifts and Bucky sees his back.

It's one huge purple mess.

"Purple's my color," Clint says and Bucky hasn't realized he's said that out loud.

"You should still go to medical," Natasha tells Clint.

"You should be in the hospital _right now_ ," Bucky adds.

Natasha shakes her head as she places another bandaid on a cut, and Clint hangs his head.

"Bad things happen in medical," Clint says, a whisper more than actual words, and it stops whatever argument Bucky was about to make.

So, instead, he looks around. The bed is a mess. Dirt and blood and whatever else is smeared on the white cloth.

"We ruined the bed," he mutters with a grimace, aware of the grit still on him.

"Tony can afford new sheets," Natasha says, then straightens to look at him,  "Go clean up, I'll ask for some food."

Yeah, food would be nice, Bucky's suddenly noticing how hungry he is. It's normal, when he heals.

The water is hot, wonderful as it pounds on his muscles, and he scrubs himself three times before he turns the faucet off. There are toothbrushes in the cupboard over the sink, right next to shaving supplies. Bucky uses one of the former and ponders on the latter, scratching at his cheeks. In the end, he shaves. Steve used to do that, all the time, always presentable even when covered in the grimness of battle. And who is Bucky to deny him that...

Who is Bucky these days but a memory. With a sigh and a head shake, he checks his hair. Still blond all the way through, as it should be. It looks weird on him, but he got used to it long ago.

Natasha calls for him, informing breakfast has arrived. Bucky even finds a pile of clothes on the bed when he's out of the bathroom, from which he picks a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. The other two are similarly dressed as they sip coffee from mugs. The food smells amazing. It's delicious as well, and Bucky soon feels more like a human being than a battered piece of flesh.

"So what are you gonna do now?" Clint asks after he gets his third refill from the coffee pot in the center of the table.

Bucky shrugs. He hasn't thought that far. "You?"

Clint spends a few seconds tapping his fingers on the side of his mug, eyes set on it. Across from Bucky, Natasha is looking out the window, displeasure on her face. Seems like she's let go of the mask, at least for the moment.

"I'll probably get locked up somewhere to make sure I'm not a threat," Clint mutters, snapping Bucky's gaze back to him.

" _Are_ you a threat?"

Clint is startled and he looks at Bucky with eyes too wide.

"I might be," he says.

"You aren’t," Natasha counters, utterly definitive in her statement.

Clint crosses his arms, Natasha matches his stance, and they spend a while glaring at each other. Looks like a repeating argument.

"Getting locked in with SHIELD psych won't do you any good," she says, voice soft. "Let's go home, clear our heads, shoot at trees."

"Home?" Bucky asks before he can stop himself.

Natasha's eyes shift to the side. So, she slipped up and doesn't trust him.

"I miss home," Bucky offers and that earns him half a smile, understanding clear behind it.

"You're welcome to join us," comes next and Bucky has to blink a few times just to make sure he's heard it right. But Natasha's smile is still there, small and sincere.

Maybe they do trust him after all.

"Yeah, join us," Clint pipes in, shifting in his chair. "Hey," he tells Natasha, "if Steven here's with us, then maybe Fury'll back off."

Bucky raises an eyebrow at him.

"He _really_ wants you to join SHIELD, man," Clint says.

Natasha agrees with a hum. Bucky scratches his head. Ok, so Fury wants him and Clint's not contrary to the idea of going to wherever home is.

"And you don't actually wanna get locked up," Bucky concludes.

It makes Clint hang his head with a small 'aw' passing through his lips. "I deserve it," he whispers.

"No, you don't," Bucky counters, immediately, and Clint shoots him a weary look. "It's not fair, that you were used and then you still fought for us all. It's _not fair_."

Even if this is something Steve would say and Bucky's default these days is to channel what Steve would do, he believes in that himself. Anger bubbles up inside of him as he’s reminded of the way Fury had so casually brought HYDRA's weaponry to light. He wonders what else is hidden in the bowels of the organization and that sends a full body shudder through him.

A ping travels around the room before Bucky can say anything more, followed by a disembodied voice. That must be the artificial intelligence Tony told him about yesterday.

"Captain, agents, Director Fury is here to see you. He is currently detained in the reception area, as per Sir's instructions, but I am afraid he can overwrite my security protocols."

Clint rests his forehead on the table with a sigh while Natasha's lips twitch. Her mask is back on, but Bucky's seen beneath it now. She's not a calculating killing machine, and she reminds him of Peggy again, how much she'd cared behind that stone wall of hers. The decision is made even before Bucky opens his mouth.

"If I keep him away from Clint, will you help me?" he asks them.

Natasha narrows her eyes. "Help with what?"

"I need to know what else SHIELD is using that came from HYDRA."

"You want us to betray SHIELD."

Bucky shakes his head. "You're not loyal to them."

Her eyes shift to Clint, then back at Bucky. Yeah, he's read her right.

"If you keep Nat safe, I'll do it," Clint says.

Natasha scoffs and Bucky's face splits in a wide smile, the first one in a very long time.

He meets Fury in a conference room a few floors below, barefoot and nonthreatening. It takes all he has to play mouse to Fury's cat, and he draws from all of Peggy's teachings.

In the end, the deal is that Bucky's responsible for any future actions Clint might take if he slips back into his brainwashed state. Bucky - well, actually Steve Rogers - joins SHIELD and gets to be the third man in Strike Team Delta. They don't get a handler because Rogers is a strategist - Bucky's not sure how he's going to pull that one off - and Fury's too unconcerned when informing him that Delta never gets back up or exit plans and are left to fend for themselves. He wonders just how lucky Natasha and Clint are. Or how good.

He gets a month of time off for the three of them before reporting back to duty and Bucky might want to dive head-first into digging through SHIELD, but that would be dangerous. No. He needs to scope the place out, find the best vantage point, figuratively, and he plans on using this time to learn about SHIELD's operational structure, their bases, everything and anything Natasha and Clint are willing to share.

It's a good plan, met with agreement from both Clint and Natasha.

~

1944

With a groan, Bucky leans back into the tent wall. He hasn't felt this battered in years. On the ground next to him, Steve lets out a matching mumble. The night is hot, humid. Behind them, in the tent, the commandos are all sleeping, and a symphony of snores overlaps the chirping of crickets.

"Found vodka," Bucky says and gives the bottle over when Steve extends his hand.

Steve drinks, makes a face before wiping at his mouth. "Disgusting."

Bucky lights one of the cigarettes from his ration and passes it over, then repeats with another for himself.

"I can't get drunk," Steve complains.

"I know," Bucky says. Neither of them can anymore.

Steve is silent for a while and Bucky takes a swig of the liquor that now rests between them.

"You ever think what it'll be like to be back home?" Steve asks, voice low and raspy.

Bucky's been trying not to. "Sometimes."

"We're soldiers now."

"I know," Bucky breathes.

"There won’t be a place for us."

"I know."

When he looks at Steve, he’s staring at his hands. "Nothing will ever be the same."

Not nothing, Bucky wants to say. He'll still be there. To the end of the line.

~

2012

Four days later they watch as Thor and Loki vanish to Asgard. Tony and Bruce make their own way towards places that will help them heal, and Bucky straddles the bike Tony's gifted him. A bike would be more Steve's style than his, but he _is_ Steve right now and he won't deny the sweet memory. Also, it's an incredible machine.

He follows Nat's car upstate while Clint dozes off in the passenger seat. When did he start calling her Nat? And when did he figure out how hurt actually Clint is? He can't recall precisely, but these past few days he's learned a lot about them and it makes him feel like he's not so alone anymore.

Home is a farmhouse in the middle of nowhere, hidden behind trees. It looks decrepit, uninteresting from the outside, but the inside tells another story. It has a fully functional kitchen, living space with a large sofa and a big TV mounted on the wall, work areas with desks and computers and radios, an entire basement filled with weapons and suits. There are four bedrooms upstairs, furnished sparsely, but functional.

As Bucky walks through when he's shown around, he gets the feeling that this is too impersonal to be a home, until he finds scratches on a door frame, marking the growth of children. Then, he starts noticing. Little things, like a fridge magnet of Venice, or a notebook full of arrow sketches and specs. There's a pendant hanging around a book on the shelves in the livingroom and a teapot that's chipped but still used by Natasha every evening.

They don't display their connection for the world to see. It's private, it's theirs, and Bucky feels a little like an intruder.

They spend the days poring over SHIELD's history and operations. Who knew Bucky would end up investigating Peggy's creation... but even more so, because this is _her_ legacy, he can't stand the thought that it might be tainted by the thing that killed Steve, the man whose memory she used in even naming the thing. 'Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division' his ass. She just really wanted their acronym to spell 'shield.' Some days he stares at the vibranium shield like it's going to spawn Steve out. Like it's going to bring it all back. But... No. Peggy and Steve are gone, and Bucky will do anything to preserve their memory.

~

One sleepless night, Natasha tells him this house used to belong to Clint's parents. Clint adds about losing them when he was a kid, about joining the circus. The wind picks up in a light breeze as Bucky listens to Natasha whisper about her years in a company that wasn't about ballet at all. After she's finished, just as quietly, Clint talks about being a mercenary and Coulson giving him another path. There's a cricket somewhere that fills the silence before Natasha tells Bucky how Clint gave her a second chance. They've been with SHIELD ever since, but the one person they were indebted to is now gone and they don't much care about the organization that’s left. Bucky feels like they care about _people_ instead, even if they don't say it out loud.

They've been sitting on the back porch watching the night sky for hours now.

And their stories, however grim and unbelievable, touch something inside of him. Something that wants to claw its way out. He almost tells them then who he really is, but stops himself when Nat takes Clint's hand in a soft squeeze.

No, Bucky is not ready to give up on Steve. Not yet. He needs to hold Steve close for as long as he can, and if the only way to have him is by pretending to be him, Bucky will take it.

He yearns and he aches and it's crippling, but looking in the mirror every morning and imagining is Steve staring back at him is what drives him to get out of bed most days.

He's always loved Steve more than he loves himself.

Clint walks inside to fetch some water and Bucky watches Natasha smile softly at his back.

"He's better," she says, "Talking to you helps."

Bucky nods. He can't sleep most nights and neither can Clint, so he's been spending a considerable amount of hours talking to the man. About... nothing important really. Movies, music, books, the world. Everyday things. Which he reckons Clint must need after the hell he's been through.

"You care a lot about him," he says.

It earns him a smile. "He's my Bucky."

Bucky stills. "What," he squeaks.

With an eye roll, Natasha accepts the bottle of water Clint gives her before he settles next to them on the wooden boards, legs crossed under himself.

"Everybody knows how much you two loved each other," Nat says.

"No, that's–" Bucky starts but she speaks right over him.

"I mean, there's no evidence, but half of the historians seem to agree. Don't worry, though, it's not illegal anymore."

"Yeah," Clint adds with a grin, "biggest love story of the century, modern Romeo and Juliet."

"What's the other half saying?" Bucky asks, his eyebrows drawing into a frown.

"That you and Peggy were the real deal. But then," Clint continues, "why would Steve refuse to give his coordinates when he landed that plane, huh? It doesn't add up. He wouldn’t do that and leave Peggy behind unless he couldn't live without his Bucky. So what's the truth, huh?"

The laughter that travels up his throat is unexpected. Oh, if they only knew... but then it turns into a sob and his vision blurs suddenly.

He wipes quickly at his cheeks, struggling to even out his ragged breathing.

A warm hand is wrapped around the back of his neck, while another sifts through his hair.

"There was nothing between me and him." Between him and Steve… But he can't make himself say names right now.

"Right," Natasha huffs like she doesn't believe him, "That why you wish you were still frozen solid right now?"

Bucky startles, "You heard that?" He was talking to himself one evening, thought he was alone, before she had joined him with tea and a pat on the back.

Slowly, Nat nods. "It's ok if you don't admit it to us, but you should at least acknowledge it for yourself. It's the only way you can mourn him: Move on."

No. No, he won't. He rips himself away from their grasp, stands and takes a couple of steps back and forth. He can't let them make him forget.

"Like you two admit that you're in love with each other?" he throws back. He can play the game, too. Natasha flinches and Bucky growls. "You don't even sleep in the same room," he grits, throwing his hands in the air. "What do you know about me and S–us, and why–what–"

He smacks the heel of his palm against the banister, forces himself to draw air.

"It's complicated," Clint murmurs and when Bucky looks at him, he's curled up into himself, both hands on the back of his head, fingers interlocked.

Natasha glares at Bucky.

"There's more than one sort of love, Rogers," she says, voice cold in contradiction with the heat in her eyes.

"Maybe you loved them both differently," Clint says, looking back up.

Bucky's shoulders slump. Yeah, he loved them. Differently. But not like the world thinks, he wouldn't wish for a future with Peggy, he dreamed of one with Steve. However, it was the other way around for Steve.

"Bucky was my best friend and Peggy was the love of my life," he lies, hoping it will put an end to the discussion.

Clint snorts softly, shaking his head. "Is that why you haven't been to see her?"

Bucky stills. "She's alive?!"

~

1943

"Hurry up, Steven," Peggy huffs.

"I'm going as fast as I can."

Steve's face is a monument of concentration where he's kneeling behind Peggy, brown pencil in hand. Peggy needs the illusion of stockings for a function tonight and she's come to Steve for help, because Steve draws.

Right? Wrong. Bucky can barely contain laughter. He's been biting his lips so hard, they're starting to hurt. Good thing it's just the three of them in the barrack today.

"Ok, look now," Steve says and leans back on his heels.

"What the–what did you do to my leg?"

Peggy's face is close to desperation as she stands there, twisted, gaping at the shaky line on the back of her leg.

Laughter howls out of Bucky because this is too funny. Steve glares at him.

"Shut up, jerk," he mutters. "Don't see you doing this better."

Bucky straightens and puts his book down. He can recognize a challenge where there's one.

"Actually, I _can_ do it better," he counters, jumping to his feet.

"Madam," he asks Peggy, "may I?"

She rolls her eyes at the ceiling with a long suffering sigh. "Might as well."

Bucky offers her a wink, then takes Steve's place. It's easy, he just needs to remember that skin stretches and shifts and the muscles beneath it move with the pencil. Don't press too hard, just enough to leave a trail, otherwise the line will jump and it will become jagged.

"I'm thoroughly impressed, Sergeant," Peggy says when he finishes the leg.

"How'd you do that?" Steve asks.

"I have a sister, punk," Bucky returns with his smuggest grin. "Was kinda expecting you'd've learned from the girls on tour."

Steve's red in the face now and he's shifting so that he's out of Peggy's line of sight. Bucky knows he likes Peggy, but he had no idea it was _this_ much. He's never seen him so flustered before.

"All that and you still don't know a bloody thing about women," Peggy comments.

Bucky sees the exact moment Steve realizes that this is his chance to flee. Steve only runs off when he's too emotionally invested, and that very rarely happens. It's not backing down from a fight if there's no fight to begin with. Bucky sighs just as Steve turns on his heels.

"You two let me know when you're done making fun of me," he says and walks out.

"Steven!" Peggy twists, but Bucky catches her wrist.

"Let him go," Bucky says. Peggy stares at him as if he grew another eye in his forehead. Bucky takes a deep breath. "He's just embarrassed, not upset. He likes you a lot."

Silence follows as Peggy considers this, looking from the door to where Bucky is still holding onto her. He lets go and stands.

"Let me get something to clean the other one," he waves at her legs.

She's still examining him, even when he redraws and she's not looking directly at him. He works fast, mood shattered. He had no idea it would be this sad to help Steve actually be with a woman that will give him a chance. Before, he kept telling himself how Steve's going to find someone, but he never really believed it. Now Peggy is here and Steve _loves her_.

"Thank you, Sergeant," she says, taking the pencil when he hands it over.

"You can call me Bucky, you know."

"Only if you call me Peggy."

For a second, he feels like she sees right through him and it's terrifying enough to make him look away from her eyes.

"You're his best friend," she states, but it sounds like she's saying something else.

"Yeah, sure," Bucky returns, walking back to his bunk.

The door opens and closes and Bucky keeps his eyes firmly on his book. Steve comes back later to pick him up so they can join the guys for a drink, but he's not in the mood. Not today.

Today he felt his heart break for real.

And Steve warns they'll be gone all night, then leaves him to his reading, even though Bucky remembers nothing of it as he turns the pages.

It seems like forever passes, yet not enough time at all, so he checks his battered watch. It's a little after midnight and Bucky gets lost in the counting of seconds, follows the thin hand second by second by sec–

A knock on the door startles him and Peggy sneaks in. She reveals a bottle, half full, hidden under her coat. Bucky raises an eyebrow at her.

"What's this?" he asks as he takes the proffered bottle. It's the good stuff. The scotch that nobody can find anymore.

"A way to say thank you," she says, sitting on the bunk next to his.

"Where'd you get it?"

"I borrowed it from the soddin' politicians. Did you know they talk about lives lost on the front as if the soldiers are nothing more than cattle?" she asks, looking around. "Don't you have any glasses?"

Bucky shakes his head in response to both her questions.

"Oh well," she sighs, snatches the scotch from his hand, and takes a large gulp right from the bottle. "I absolutely hate those snobs."

Peggy tips the bottle his way and Bucky drinks, enjoying the burn on his throat. Too bad it doesn't last.

"You know I can't get drunk," he says.

She looks away, head tilting in that way that says she's empathizing. Bucky is surprised at himself that he knows her this much already.

"Dr. What's-his-face said he wanted to get more blood from the both of you."

With a groan, Bucky lies back. "They really shouldn't try to replicate _me_ ," he says. What he means is that they really shouldn't try to replicate the torture Zola put him through.

There's a shuffle as Peggy takes her shoes and coat off, then rests against the headboard of the other bunk. It's Steve's and Bucky can't help but imagining them together. It makes his heart lurch.

Peggy drinks and Bucky drinks. The minutes tick away slowly in silence.

"Bucky?"

"Yeah?"

She straightens, placing the bottle on the small table between the beds. From where he's curled on his side, Bucky sees her bare toes wiggle against the floorboards.

"How much do you love him?"

Bucky closes his eyes. "A lot," he breathes.

"And how much does he love you?"

"Not enough."

The air shifts, his mattress dips on the side, and he lets her pull his head in her lap as she leans against his headboard. Her fingers are gentle in his hair.

"Do you hate me?"

He tried, but he couldn't. Peggy is too... Peggy. He shakes his head, pushing his face against her thigh.

She's silent and still for long enough that Bucky starts thinking that maybe he's dreaming or hallucinating.

"I wouldn't mind sharing," she whispers.

Bucky shudders. "Don't give me hope," he begs. His plea is obvious in his voice, but he's past caring at this point. He's never told anyone what he told her and it's left him raw and open.

A beat, then the fingers restart their caress. "I want to be your friend."

"Ok," Bucky rasps, voice thick and watery.

Her skirt is already wet beneath his cheek anyway; has been for a while now, but she says nothing and hums softly until Bucky sleeps.

~

2012

Yet another thing Fury failed to mention: Peggy Carter, still alive. Her health is frail, her memory is spotty, but she's alive and Bucky asks to be stationed in DC to be close to her. Nat and Clint don't argue against it, on the contrary, and he's grateful. He's apologized to them, although Steve would be too stubborn to do that, but hey, they've helped him keep his sanity and Bucky needs their friendship. They forgave him. He still doesn't understand what that thing is between them, nor why it's complicated, but if they can accept that Bucky spends hours holding Peggy's hand, he can accept that they have a bond and not pry further.

For her part, Peggy sometimes sees him for who he really is, calls him Bucky or Barnes and pokes fun at his bleached hair, just like she used to do back then. But most time, he’s Steve to her and it breaks his heart, for both of them.

He runs every morning. He's even met this guy that runs the same track as him. Well, met is stretching it. Bucky revels in passing him over and over and smirking smugly at him. Hasn't said a word to him yet. But he's not pushing himself. Clint agrees, although Nat's more for the 'ripping off the bandage' strategy of life. They're sharing a three bedroom apartment provided by SHIELD, and the contact he has with them is enough for now. It's part of his deal with Fury, that he needs to 'supervise' Clint, but Clint's been good. He's still affected by what Loki did, by the lives he took under his control. Still, he's improving, slower than a snail, but moving forward nonetheless. Nat's not as prone to wear her impassive mask around Bucky anymore, either.

~

They've been in DC for two weeks when they get their first assignment.

They need to remove a piece of dangerous tech from the hands of an arms dealer. It has something to do with some Stark missiles and Tony confirms that the electronic chip the dealer has is too dangerous to exist. It needs to be destroyed. Tony offers his help, and Bucky is tempted to accept it, but Pepper calls later to ask him to refuse because Tony's unwell and still battling his demons from almost dying in space. Nat agrees. Clint goes quiet for hours.

The mission rolls over and dies a sudden death because of course Bucky can't plan. They barely make it out alive of the compound.

"What the hell was that?" Natasha demands as they collapse on chairs in the dingy motel room that serves as their base of operations.

"I didn't think–"

"It's your _job_ to think, Rogers!"

Fuck. He almost got them killed because he's been stupid and– Bucky swallows against his dry throat, trying to push the desperation away. He inhales, exhales, then turns to look out the window.

"I'm sorry," he says, "I'm just not good at this."

He's met with silence for a beat, but then Natasha speaks. "Fine. Don't do it again. By the way, your roots are showing."

Bucky's hand propels itself into his hair, unabated. No, just yesterday he's bleached... a click. Bucky turns slowly, toward the two guns now trained at him.

"Who are you?" Natasha asks.

"I can explain," he says, raising his palms.

Clint releases his safety as well.

"You're not Steve Rogers," Nat grits.

"I'm not," he confirms.

"What'd you do with Cap?" Clint asks.

"Lost him in '44," Bucky returns, not kindly, "when he fell off a damn train."

Clint's eyes widen at that, his eyebrows lifting on his forehead, and he straightens, letting his hand hang at his side. Bucky can see the disappointment there. Clint's told him once how Captain America used to be his childhood hero, the one a much younger Clint would turn to when the shadows creeping up the walls were too scary.

"You're Barnes," Nat says. She's incredulous and it's the first time Bucky's seen that look on her face.

"I am," he tells her, then sits back down in his rickety chair. "Are you gonna shoot me?"

She blinks at her weapon, as if she's only now realizing she's still holding it, but she locks the safety back, holsters it. Clint drops his on the table.

"Explain," Nat says.

"Please," Clint adds.

And Bucky would like to tell them everything right now, but they don't have that luxury. The maniac with too many armed goons might come after them and it will take hours to retell everything. So he gives them the short version.

"Me and Steve, we switched. We wore the suit as needed. I guess for some reason nobody told the truth after we were gone. It's one of the things I wanted to find out at SHIELD, but Peggy was lucid enough once to tell me they never wanted to taint our memories and the sacrifice I made in Steve's name." A bitter chuckle escapes his lips. "Well I guess you were right, I was selfish crashing that plane where they won't find me."

He can't look at them, couldn't ever since Clint said 'please,' and Bucky rests his elbows on his knees and his forehead in his palms.

"I'm sorry I deceived you, but I couldn't bear them thinking Cap was an impostor."

Silence follows, then a shuffle. A hand presses on the side of his knee and Bucky moves his hands to look at Clint, as he's crouched in front of him.

"You're still my hero," he says, followed by Nat's quiet "just don't lie to us again."

That thing that used to scratch at Bucky's insides finally settles. It was fear, he realizes. Of losing his friends.

"You must have questions," he starts while Clint stands back up.

"Oh yeah," he says.

"Many questions," Nat confirms.

Bucky draws air through his nose and then lets it slowly out. Nat's rummaging through the papers on the coffee table while Clint stretches, rolls his shoulders, then kneels next to her.

"What are you doing?"

"We gotta take this asshole out before he comes after us," Nat says. Ah, right. The impending danger they're in, all because of Bucky. "We'll talk about your mistakes later, but for now, get your head back in this. Can we count on you?"

Bucky nods. They can.

"Good," Nat says as she slams a pencil on the pile of papers she's gathered in front of Clint, then turns toward the archer. "Plan."

It's... mesmerizing to watch Clint work. He sketches attack after attack, methodically pointing out flaws in his own ideas. Nat answers all Clint's questions as he works, so that he doesn't have to break his concentration to search for intel, like how wide is the wall of the compound and do they have a satellite dish. At some point, Bucky joins in, does what Nat does, and they're soon synched like a well-oiled machine. It's feels a million times better than it did when they were following his lead, and Bucky floats a little with it. Nat smirks at him knowingly.

"He's never going to admit he's capable of leading," she tells him in a whisper while Clint's in the bathroom after their strategy has finally taken shape.

"Steve was a natural at it," he says and it's incredibly liberating to be able to say it out loud. "I tried to do right by him. I failed."

She nods. "You're a very good actor. Nobody will know and we won't spill your secret."

Bucky shakes his head. "You still figured it out."

"Yeah, but we've been living together for how long now?"

He can't help the smile that blooms on his lips. This is not how he's expected to be found out, but he's immensely grateful for their acceptance. Doesn't even want to ask why they believed him so easily, just in case they change their minds.

"You're ours now," comes from the bathroom door, as if answering his thoughts, "we take care of our own."

The smile widens enough to hurt his cheeks.

The mission is a success. It's smooth and swift and they're surgically precise. No civilian casualties and the tech is destroyed. Yes, Fury wanted it intact, but Bucky doesn't want to give Tony more reasons to lose sleep, so he brings his boot down on it with determination.

Later, when they're on the plane back home, Nat grabs his arm and tells him she has an idea of where to start looking for SHIELD's old archives. On his other side, Clint agrees with a mumble before he falls asleep on Bucky's shoulder.

~

In the next eight months, Bucky tells Nat and Clint everything, as truthfully as humanly possible. He doesn't know Peggy's or Col. Phillips' motivations, so he can only attest to himself, but his assassin friends get it. They understand loss.

Meanwhile, they go on their assigned missions. Clint hatches strategies and Bucky takes credit. He doesn't want to, but Clint insists. They've had this argument every time they return. Nat always wins by reminding him it's for his cover as Steve and he shouldn't blow it. Not until he has all the answers he needs.

As for that front... things are slow. Glacial.

They have to be careful because they're spying on a spy organization. He takes Nat's lead on this one. He learns. Both her and Clint are founts of knowledge in that regard. He gets familiar with weapons, fighting, technology, the culture.

They go to New York for New Year's and Bucky sits with them on a frozen rooftop, telling stories of Steve getting into fights and that time he caused a cat to scratch Bucky enough to warrant a trip to the hospital.

~

1944

"Happy New Year," Steve says as he drops down on Bucky's side.

Around them, London stretches, quiet and dark.

"Doesn't seem so happy to me," he rasps.

Steve lets out a big exhale. "Yeah, you're right."

He has a metal mug that he offers Bucky, no doubt full of something disgusting and probably distilled in a basement. With a grimace, Bucky takes a sip. And then another.

"Where'd you get chocolate?" he gasps, turning to see Steve's smirk.

"Sold my brain to Stark."

Bucky huffs a small laugh at the joke.

"No, really," Steve says, "he gets to take my brain after I die."

With a look from the mug to Steve, Bucky raises an eyebrow. "And all you got for it was chocolate."

"But you like chocolate."

Bucky _loves_ chocolate and he loves Steve even more for this small gift. It's amazing and elating and horrible. Because Steve is being a friend and Bucky is choking on the way his heart is stuck in his throat.

"Happy New Year," he manages, lifting the mug.

The grin that splits Steve's face, showing his teeth even in the darkness around them, is so bright that it rips Bucky apart inside.

~


	3. Between the Dead and the Living

2013

Spring is back and Bucky returns to his usual track for his morning runs. The late April air is a bit hotter than he remembers, but all it does is make him appreciate the sunny weather. Been raining too much the past month. Nat's been encouraging him to get out, meet people, make some other friends. Clint is no help in staving her off, the traitor. He even dares be amused. Maybe that's why he does it, to see if can, indeed, talk to another person like he used to. Something simple.

He hurries toward the guy from before, the one he's seen running his track in the morning, and who he's strangely missed while winter made the place unfit for jogging.

"On your left," he says and then he runs faster. What the hell, Barnes. With a deep breath, he shakes his head at himself. He circles back around. "On your left," he shoots and this time gets a reaction. It makes him laugh.

Ok, this is not so bad. He does it one more time, and as he approaches for the fourth, the guys speeds up. "Don't do it, don't you–"

"On your left." Bucky does it, laughing out loud already.

When he's back around, the man is sitting against a tree, chest heaving. Bucky's not even tired, and he misses a little the feeling of burning in his muscles after strain.

The man's name is Sam Wilson and Bucky doesn't remember one thing they've said to each other, because he's too absorbed by his bright smile and dark eyes. But he remembers him being warm and welcoming, and Bucky has another entry in his notebook of things to try afterwards.

Natasha's car comes to a stop behind him and thankfully interrupts them before he starts to stutter, because yeah, Natasha might have explained the century's ways of flirting or he might have seen it on TV, but it's another thing to apply it now, in the open, with a man. There's still a sense of 'unacceptable' in the back of his head. Bucky's getting better at the workings of the new century, though.

"Hey boys," Nat says, that melodic tint in her voice. "Can you direct me to the Smithsonian? I'm trying to pick up a relic."

"Very funny," Bucky throws at her.

And now Sam is more interested in Nat. As Clint would say, aw Sam no. But Bucky pushes it away. He likes talking to him and he's going to take him up on that offer to visit the Vet center.

"He's pretty," Nat says with a smirk after she drives off.

"Too bad he's into _you_ ," Bucky mumbles.

"Aww, Buckybear," she croons and Bucky resists the urge to punch her shoulder like a small child. "There _is_ such a thing called bisexuality, you know."

He didn't know. And he spends the entire drive to headquarters reading up on it. On all sexualities and romantic orientations. There's a _lot_ of them. Now he really gets what Nat meant when she said there isn't just one type of love out there. Also, he only notices afterward that Nat took three detours before she brought them in.

~

Their new mission goes incredibly badly. Natasha and Bucky are sent to rescue hostages from a SHIELD ship in the middle of the ocean, while Clint is off on another solo run. Their backup is a strike team that for some reason nags at Bucky's sense of danger and this apprehension follows him through their incursion.

They make off with the hostages still alive, but Nat tells Bucky that Fury had tasked her in secret with 'recovering a sensitive package' off that ship. At the last moment, Bucky decides to blow the vessel to pieces, because they need to cover their tracks.

She doesn't turn it in. Tells Fury it's been lost in the explosion.

It's a small thumb drive, military grade, most likely encrypted and protected against being accessed. They both agree that they should wait before doing anything rash.

At least until Clint returns and they can rethink their strategy. But Clint's mission is extended, not even Nat knows where he is, and Bucky can see how that's affecting her. She insists they go on as if nothing happened, unable to afford being discovered and inadvertently cause something stupid, like endangering Clint.

So Bucky visits the Vet center. Then Sam's apartment for movies and pizza. Then they go to a museum together. Nat teases him about it, but Sam's becoming a friend and Bucky is not ready to give up Steve. Also, starting something with Sam while he believes that Bucky is Steve would be monumentally wrong.

It's three more weeks before Clint returns, with a black eye and bruised ribs. His movements are sluggish, but he's fine otherwise. Bucky makes him chicken soup while Natasha grills him.

Apparently, Fury's been sending his best agents on personal runs. Apparently, Fury now trusts Clint enough to entrust him with something sensitive. It makes Bucky snort, especially since Fury sent Clint alone, with partial intel that almost got him killed.

Bucky's never seen Nat more furious. She's the image of calm, but that cold gleam in her eyes tells another story.

~

1944

Peggy is livid and Bucky stands there under her heavy stare.

He failed.

She doesn't move. Bucky keeps himself as still as possible, afraid he’ll crumble to dust at the smallest breeze.

Something screams in his ears, clawing with dull fingers. He failed.

"No..." Her face crumbles and twists and it makes Bucky's chest hurt so much more.

He failed to catch Steve.

She shakes her head, eyes already filling, choking on a breath that burns at the back of Bucky's throat.

Steve screams as he falls. He failed.

"How?"

"The shield was hit and he was thrown out of the train." His voice is not his own and he doesn't know how he manages to speak, but she deserves the truth. She deserves to know what he did.

Her gaze flickers to the shield lying at his feet, paint grazed away by the blast that took Steve from them. No, no, Bucky is the one that did it. _He_ failed.

Everything hurts and nothing is solid. Peggy bends, clutching at her chest, gasping, and Bucky's knees give out.

Everything is gray and nothing is... there's nothing...

"Bucky! Bucky, look at me, please, Bucky."

Something is warm on his face.

"Come on, that's it, open your eyes."

"Why are you crying," he breathes, fingers going to touch Peggy's wet cheek...

... and he knows.

Because he failed.

"Oh, you stupid boy, it wasn't your fault."

"I took all the stupid with me," Bucky croaks.

She smiles despite the tears and Bucky doesn't deserve it, her kindness.

"I kil–" Her hand covers his mouth.

"Don't."

He won't. He won't say it out loud, but he knows what he did. He failed and he killed Steve.

~

2013

June is hot in DC. It predicts the arrival of even hotter months ahead and Bucky mentally thanks Natasha for requesting lodging on the base for them. First, for the air conditioning. Second, because they need to be close to the operations center.

In the past few weeks they've lied through their teeth to Fury and followed the paper trail of his orders down to a storage facility acquisition form from the '60s that is apparently located in Siberia of all places. That's where Clint went. He found an abandoned Soviet missile silo that got him in trouble with the local military.

The form had a reference number for an addendum but it's been scrubbed off. By chance, while staring at it against the window, Bucky saw the scribble under an overlaid typed date, peculiarly placed on the top left corner instead of on the right, as SHIELD's paperwork usually required.

It's why they need a plausible reason to be in the Triskelion headquarters for extended periods of time and lodging inside the building offers them just that. In the meantime, the three of them are participating in a training program for younger recruits. It's a good enough cover as they search for a way into the famed vault said to store all of SHIELD's archives prior to 1975. They're not even sure the vault is in the same building, but the Triskelion hosts plenty of file rooms and servers. All they need is to find a way in and out unseen, accessing data without raising alarms. The physical access part isn’t hard once they get their hands on the blueprints of the base, complete with the setup of the security system.

They make their way below ground, through vents that are too large to be servicing regular rooms... and out into a monstrous cavern that serves as a construction yard for the largest helicarriers Bucky's seen.

"Did we trip any wires?" Clint asks when they're back in Bucky's room.

"No," Bucky says, after he checks the status of the security system on his laptop. He's very good with computers, he's found, after he's gotten used to them. There's also a plethora of knowledge out there, ready for the picking, and Bucky hasn't been shy.

"We need to read that thumb drive," Nat adds.

"You said it was encrypted," Clint throws.

"Once we access it, they'll know we have it," Bucky confirms.

"Who is this 'they' we're up against, anyway?" Clint sags on the edge of the bed. "Is Fury betraying us, or is it something else?"

Nat's silent, lips pursed. That's the worst of it, though, fighting against an invisible enemy. Because no matter how this started, as a way for Bucky to find out what Fury's been up to, the fact that the man seems to have been investigating something in parallel suggests he might not be who they're after.

And they are indeed after _someone_. In their perusals through SHIELD documents, they've found suspicious sums of money that are gone one day but explained as a purchase the next, missing equipment, some leave days that coincided with missions for some agents. It's nothing that regarded separately would raise any flags, but on the whole, it feels like something thrumming right beneath the surface. Something hidden. Something vile.

"So what now?" Nat finally speaks. "Do we confront Fury or...?"

"Wait," Bucky says. He's been going through the pictures they've taken of the hangar. Steve was the one with perfect memory, not him, but these new cameras are amazingly useful. "Look." He turns the laptop, points at a crate in a pile. "It's the same reference number as on the form."

"There's also a barcode on it," Clint notices. "Can you search for it in the inventory?"

But Bucky's already doing that, using the password and username of a fake employee they created just to cover their tracks. It's been stupidly easy to do it. SHIELD really needs to upgrade their screening process.

"It came from... DC?" Bucky frowns at the screen while Nat leans in to look at the address.

"I don't recognize that from SHIELD's list of properties," she says.

"No," Bucky murmurs once he understands why it's familiar. "I know it." Two pairs of eyes are looking at him expectantly and Bucky scratches his chin. "Whenever we got our hands on some of Schmidt and Zola's research, we'd ship it to this address. It's also where Zola was supposed to be sent after we captured him."

"It's in a residential area," Clint comments. He snatches the laptop, pulls up a satellite shot. "Looks secluded... wow, that's some fence."

"Blueprints?" Nat asks.

Bucky draws air, in and out, steadily, focusing on their voices. He has a bad feeling about this.

"Buck," and an elbow pushes at him.

He takes the laptop from Clint, searches where he needs to. He's a little numb, but Nat keeps her hand on the back of his neck for some reason and he manages to refocus on his task. No, he knows the reason, she's the most attuned to others of the three of them and he's grateful for this little quirk right now.

~

Twenty minutes later, Clint has settled on an incursion plan and they shuffle out of headquarters under a guise of needing time off to decompress.

"What'd you tell Hill we were doing?" Clint asks Nat as they drive toward their target.

"Taking Rogers' virgin ass to hookers," she returns, a smile playing on her lips.

"Steve's not a virgin," Bucky says. At the same time, Clint adds "and she believed you?"

"You'd be surprised what people choose to believe when it comes to sex-related embarrassment," Nat explains, but then she does a double take, regarding Bucky thoughtfully from the passenger seat. "You don't have a problem with prostitution?"

Bucky slides lower on the backseat, raises an eyebrow. "Everybody's entitled to make a living as they see fit. If it were legal, there would be fewer problems for the workers."

Clint hums as he drives, spares a look at Bucky through the mirror.

"Way to be openminded, Barnes."

Bucky scoffs. "I didn't grow up in the prehistoric ages."

Nat smiles at him. It's warm, it always is when he surprises her, even though she'd never admit to being astonished. Ever.

The conversation slides toward recent progress on social issues for a while. Bucky read up on things and while some laws are indeed better than in his day, others are still in dire need of being addressed. Steve would have a field day protesting every little thing imaginable and Bucky would be there right beside him.

He'd give his left arm to have Steve back.

"So, Steve's not a virgin," Clint comments, "What about you?"

Bucky smirks instead of answering, seeing how this is none of their business, but it makes Clint whine playfully and Nat tease him some more. It relaxes him.

~

1944

The curfew announcement echoes through the streets outside, but Bucky can't make himself move.

He's sitting at the only table left whole in their favorite pub, now bombed out and in ruins. He salvaged a glass and an unfinished bottle of wine from behind the bar, but he keeps staring at it. Steve's not here to share it with him and Bucky doesn't see the point anymore.

Footsteps echo through the rubble; Peggy is there. Bucky wipes at his cheeks while she picks up a toppled chair and drags it closer.

"I can't..." he waves at the bottle helplessly, then pushes the glass toward her.

She nudges it away and takes his hand instead.

Bucky can't look at her.

"It's not your fault," she says. "There was nothing you could do."

"You know that's not true." He sniffles and tries to stop the tears, but even more spill over.

A choked gasp and her other hand comes to clutch at the one she's already holding. She leans over the table, forehead on her own arms. Her shoulders are shaking and Bucky finds himself petting her hair with his free hand.

They share the grief, too, like they shared the love.

He doesn't know how long it passes by the time his eyes dry. Outside, the city is silent.

With a deep breath, Peggy straightens and Bucky is faced with her gaze again.

"It's not your fault."

"I really wanna believe that," he whispers before he can stop himself.

"Then believe it. I don't blame you, if that's what you're thinking."

One of her hands is still holding onto his, her face earnest. Bucky swallows and looks away.

"Did you believe in _him_?"

"Of course," he returns.

"Then believe in his choice. He knew it could happen, yet he still fought. And you chose to fight _with_ him. Don't tell me that if he were here right now you'd be letting him blame himself."

"He _should_ be here."

" _He_ is not," Peggy counters, squeezing his fingers. "You are. And we could throw blame around. If only Erskine hadn't found him, if only I hadn't helped him, if only the war hadn't started."

She pushes his chin up.

"But we all know it comes down to Schmidt. If you want to fault someone, he is it. _He_ killed our Steve, _not you_."

Our Steve.

But of course. Schmidt needs to be stopped. It's good that Peggy is here to remind him that the fight is not over. So he lifts her hand and presses a kiss to her knuckles.

It earns him a smile. It's sad and wobbly, but a smile nonetheless. Even though he still doesn't deserve it.

Silence falls around them as they sit there staring at their entwined hands.

"I never got a kiss from him." Peggy whispers. "Nor that dance he promised me."

"For what it's worth, I think you were his right partner. He's waited his entire life for you."

Her smile this time is even sadder.

"How about we go dancing after all this is over?" Bucky offers, but he's already standing and bringing her with him. "I'll pretend I have no idea what I'm doing."

She nods, pressing herself against him, arms snaking around his middle. "Even step on my toes a little? Ruin my good shoes?"

"Even that," Bucky breathes, wrapping his own arms around her shoulders.

Peggy nods against his neck, and he sways them a little. It's nothing like a dance, more of a hug, but it soothes something inside of him. If he can offer Peggy her Steve, even just for a second, he'll gladly do it.

"The world still needs him," she whispers and Bucky knows what she's saying. "The world needs _you_."

To be Steve; to be a hero; neither of which Bucky is.

"If I do this, I'm going after Schmidt."

"You're not going alone."

Bucky closes his eyes and holds on tighter. Pretends Steve's between them.

That he hasn't already taken Bucky with him.

~

2013

The house they're breaking into has a large basement, at least two levels below ground, and that's where they're headed. It speaks to how well they've gotten to know each other's skills when they manage to get in front of a heavy vault door without tripping the sensors nor alerting the security personnel upstairs.

This place, though, is not monitored and that's enough to raise the hairs on the back of Bucky's neck.

"Think this is the famous vault?" Clint whispers.

Nat shrugs. "I guess we'll see."

She flexes her fingers and gets to work. Bucky's never seen a lock she can't crack and she doesn't fail this time either. He holds his breath as the door opens. Beyond, the space is dark and there's a strong odor of disinfectant drifting outside. Bucky wrinkles his nose just as Clint finds the light switch.

"Guys, I don't think this is the vault," Clint says while Nat crouches down to check if there are sensors visible somewhere.

Through the door, Bucky can see a large room, its center filled with long, narrow tables. There are test tubes and medical equipment everywhere, vials of various substances in the refrigerators on his left. The right hand side wall is full of cabinets from floor to ceiling.

"What the hell is this place?"

"It doesn't look wired," Nat says as she stands back up, "but we might raise an alarm if we go in. We need an exit."

Clint nods, pulls out a copy of the blueprints from his pocket, and draws an escape route for each of them should they need to separate, apart from the one they've already agreed upon before coming here. Once they have them memorized, Bucky steps in, carefully.

There are no alarms. No guards rushing in. So this place might be hidden even from its guardians. It's more intriguing by the minute.

The files on one of the tables speak of a subject that is resisting a sort of mind wiping procedure, followed by speculations of his usability if he refuses to obey. It fills Bucky with dread. More so, when whoever this subject is seems to have been under their experimentation for decades. In one of the files, there's a detailed description on a proposal to remove the man's arms and replace them with bionic models because...

Bucky's hands shake.

"Guys, found a secret door," Clint's voice draws his attention.

"A secret door inside the secret vault," Nat says, half mockery, half interest in her voice.

With a hiss, a part of the far wall slides away to reveal a smaller area. It's darker, but what's inside is still clear to Bucky. It's so clear that he has to wonder if he's having a stroke.

'...because the supersoldier serum would keep the subject alive,' is what the file says.

Bucky's knees finally give out and he slides to the floor, eyes fixed on Steve's frozen face behind the glass of a vertical cylindrical chamber.

"Steve..."

He's seated on a chair, shackled under the frost, head leaned back.

He looks just like the last time Bucky saw him take a nap, when they were on their way to intercept that damned train.

"Hey, I think he's alive," Clint says, bent over a console.

That's all it takes for Bucky to scramble to his feet. His fingers almost touch the glass, but then he's being dragged back. He kicks, ready to fight. Instead, Clint plasters himself on his front, pushes back.

"Bucky. Bucky, look at me," Nat's voice drifts through and Bucky blinks. "Calm. Down."

He's calm. He is.

"That's good, now breathe with me."

He's breathing.

Steve's alive. Fuck.

"'m good," he rasps, and Clint lets go. "We gotta get him out, can't leave him here." A palm against his chest stops him again.

"We will, just calm down first. Let's not be hasty."

Bucky's gaze skitters to the door, then back. "We can't afford to wait."

"Barnes!" Clint hisses between his teeth. "We're taking him with us, but we can't just press random buttons, we risk killing him."

Bucky blinks. He's managed to push Clint back until he's within reach of the console, and it should be funny how Clint's hands have been clinging to his shoulders for so long, but it's terrifying when he realizes what he was about to do. He snatches his fingers away from the console, takes a wobbly step back.

His heart pounds so hard against his ribs, it _hurts_.

"Ok, good," Clint says. "Let's find instructions for this thing."

Yes, something to do. Bucky forces himself to focus and not look at Steve.

"Here we go," Nat says and they both join her.

The defrost procedure is simple enough, but then it requires the subject kept at room temperature for 24 hours in order to not risk tissue damage. They can't stay here that long. They can't take the entire container either, it's too big to fit through the door and it requires a power source. So they need to get Steve out and take him with them, then wait the 24 hours elsewhere.

Unlocking the chamber and releasing its precious contents would only take forty five minutes.

It's still a great risk of being discovered, but there's no other viable choice.

Bucky feels like he's going to implode with impatience, but once every few minutes either Clint or Nat approach and make him breathe with them. There are no words for how thankful he is they're here.

In the meantime, they sift through what medicine they might need, taking vials and medical supplies. Bucky rifles through the files, makes a stack of what he feels should be analyzed in greater detail later.

"What the hell?" Bucky mutters when he reaches a file at the bottom of the pile, an ominous red symbol engraved on it.

"Isn't that–"

"HYDRA," Bucky answers Nat.

"It's dated 1972," she observes. Yeah, he noticed that, too.

"There's more going on than we imagined," he whispers and risks a look at Steve's face.

He has _so many_ questions. Their first priority, though, is to get Steve out, keep him hidden, keep him safe, _then_ figure out what is HYDRA still doing active after they've cut its last head with Schmidt.

"We'll figure this out," Nat says. "We need a safe place to go."

"Do you think Tony will help us?" Bucky asks.

"We can't involve him," Clint chips in.

"Why not?"

"We can't bring danger to him, not overtly. Just in case we fail, someone needs to be left outside of it to helps us later if we need it," Nat explains. She presses her lips and frowns with thought. "Hm, we can ask Bruce to check him out," she throws a thumb over her shoulder. "Nobody wants to upset Bruce. Home?" she turns to Clint.

It's a risk for them. Bucky gets it. That house is dear to him as well now, and he'd hate for it to be compromised.

"Fury knows about it," Clint returns.

" _Only_ Fury knows about it," Nat counters.

"Tasha," Clint says, but it's more of a sigh than an actual word, as his shoulders slump. "If it gets shot up, you two owe me a house."

"Thank you," Bucky says and before he knows it, he's wrapped around Clint.

"Agh! Get off!" Clint smacks at him, almost growling.

"Wow, Nat was right, you _really_ can't take gratitude," and Bucky squeezes tighter for a second before releasing him.

Clint flips him off and Bucky ruffles his hair, almost getting his fingers bitten off while Nat watches on, unimpressed.

Bucky is glad for the reprieve before he has to turn back to Steve and feel his heart shatter in his chest all over again.

~

1944

"Please. Please. You don't have to do this. Just tell us where you are. The world needs you. I need you."

Peggy's voice breaks and it almost breaks Bucky's resolve as well. Her picture is sitting in front of him on the controls of the Valkyrie because that's what _he_ would’ve done.

"Please, Steve, please."

And just like that, the spell is broken.

The world needs Steve, but he’s gone. Bucky needs him, too, needs to be with him. And this is the last thing he'll do for him, he'll let Steve save New York and the rest of the world from the bombs waiting in the belly of the aircraft.

There's water all around him, perhaps even ice ahead.

It's only fair.

Steve fell into an icy grave at the bottom of that ravine and Bucky will join him in his slumber.

"This is my choice."

A sob comes back, but he smiles at the future. It's suddenly bright and it's not because of the way light catches onto the water clouding his vision.

"Peggy," he calls.

"I'm here." The line crackles.

"Gonna need a rain check on that dance."

"All right." And she tells him when and where.

The land is closer.

"He never learned how to dance," Bucky says. "You'd have to lead."

"I'd be happy to."

Bucky's heart thumps once, twice. He's arrived.

"I'll remember to step on your–"

The world is dark. All pain is gone. There's nothing but silence and peace.

~


	4. Keep on Smiling, Keep Enduring

2013

"Why is he naked?" Bruce asks as he wipes his glasses with the hem of his shirt.

"We took off the scrubs he had on in case there was a tracker in them," Nat says.

"Scanned to see if any were embedded under his skin," Clint adds. "Found one on his shoulder and one in his thigh. Very close to his–"

"We removed them," Bucky says.

"And you didn't cover him _because..._ " Bruce raises his eyebrows at Bucky.

"Instructions said to let him air," he mutters, then clears his throat. He frowns while Clint scratches his head and Nat studies a spot on the ceiling. They could've at least covered his… yeah. "So anyway, can you help?"

"I'm not that kind of doctor. You should take him to a hospi–"

"No!" the three of them return, an unison that startles Bruce enough to take a step back.

"You said he was frozen in a cryo container. He shouldn't even be alive right now. I don't know what you want me to do," Bruce says.

Nat catches Bucky's eyes and tips her head toward Bruce. Right. Bucky takes a deep breath.

"Can I talk to you for a second?" he asks Bruce, pointing at the hallway and Bruce follows, suspicion in his posture.

"What's going on here, Steve? Who is that man?"

Bucky tucks his hands behind his back, leaving himself exposed, which makes Bruce straighten his spine, but he's also a little more relaxed.

" _His_ name is Steve and mine is Bucky and I'm really sorry for lying to you, but I can explain why I did it if you'll let me." All the words are expelled in a single breath, as fast as he can. Even if he's not that close to Bruce, it would still sting quite a lot to lose his respect.

Bruce stands there, jaw dropping bit by bit until his mouth is half open by the time Bucky inhales.

"Fascinating," Bruce breathes, taking a step closer. He puts his glasses back on, leans in. "Really? There was this one conspiracy theorist in the '80s that claimed Captain America didn't die in that plane crash."

Bucky looks down. "It was _me_ in that plane. Just me."

"Why?"

Because... so many things. He shrugs before looking back up at Bruce.

"Please help him? He's the real Cap and you know the most about the supersoldier serum. It's what's keeping him alive, I think."

"You're the real Cap, too, Barnes," Clint says from the doorway.

Bruce is still staring at Bucky like he's grown two heads and he takes a step toward the room, stumbling onto his own feet.

"Two Captains," he says, turning to Clint. "Like in that one comic book."

Clint grins with a nod, "Fiction come to life."

"If you two are done fanboying," Nat's voice comes from inside the bedroom, "his pulse is erratic."

Bruce is inside in a moment, digging for a stethoscope in the impressive medical kit Clint has stocked in the house. And then he’s getting out more tools. Bucky watches as Bruce works. He even checks the small incision marks Nat's done so they can fish out the trackers, cuts that are already starting to heal, even in Steve's state.

"Well, you were right, the serum's working for him," Bruce says after he's finished. "Can I see those instructions?"

Nat stands in a corner while Bruce reads, Clint goes to make coffee, and with an effort Bucky abstains from pacing back and forth.

"I don't know what to do but wait," Bruce concludes as he closes the file.

With a sigh, Bucky rubs his forehead.

"How about we all eat something while we look through the other documents? Maybe there's something in there," Nat says.

With a nod, Bruce walks out. Bucky finds it very hard to move from this room, to be away from Steve. Nat wraps delicate fingers around his elbow.

"Take a break."

Her voice is quiet, low, alluring. Bucky doesn't want to, but he needs to. He needs to eat and rest and be ready for the fight that's surely coming. At some point someone will discover they were in that vault and he needs to be ready to protect Steve.

So he follows her downstairs.

Eats.

Reads through research that doesn't make much sense to him.

~

At some point he falls asleep on an armchair and startles awake under a thick blanket while the other three are slumped over in slumber, Nat and Clint on the sofa, Bruce curled up in the reclining seat that looks like it’s seen better days but is actually incredibly comfortable.

Steve is still immobile when he enters the bedroom, silent in his movements. It must be somewhere around dawn given the color of the sky. The clock on the nightstand confirms it. Half past five. Which means it's been a little over seventeen hours into their estimated twenty-four.

He sits on the edge of the mattress, cupping Steve's hand between his palms. It's a small indulgence he allows himself. When Steve is awake, he won't be able to anymore, restricted to pats on the back and those one armed hugs that used to give him just enough contact to make him crave more. Bucky shakes his head at himself with a huff of bitter exhalation.

"Hey, punk," he whispers. "Guess what? We're in the future, the actual future. It's the 21st century and–" He swallows against words crowding in a lump in his throat. He's not even sure what he wants to say.

There are soft footsteps on the stairs. Not Nat and not Clint, he knows their rhythm. Bucky doesn't move from his spot though, as Bruce shuffles in.

"You're not upset?" Bucky asks.

"About what?"

"That I've been pretending to be him."

Bruce is half bent inside the closet now, but he returns with a sheet that he uses to cover Steve's lower half. Oh, right. Bucky forgot.

"I assume you have your reasons. Tell me if you want. But you trusted me enough to call me here and I appreciate that more."

A small smile makes its way onto Bucky's lips and it's matched by Bruce in the dimness of the room. The one lamp on the nightstand is letting off a low sort of glow, just enough to encase the space in warmth. It's why Bucky's chosen this bedroom over the other free ones when given the choice when he followed Nat and Clint here last year.

"So you have the serum, too," Bruce says.

"A version of it, yeah. Not sure what Zola did to me, nobody is. But I survived for seventy years when I shouldn't have."

"Maybe it wasn't your time to go." Bruce sits on the other side of the bed, pressing his fingers onto Steve's pulse point at his wrist.

"Didn't peg you for the spiritual kind, doctor," Bucky tells him.

Bruce waves his free hand. "I share body with an immortal creature. Skews perspectives somewhat. And call me Bruce. Oh, what do I call you?"

"Bucky's fine," he breathes. "Nobody else but us knows, so–"

"Your secret's safe with me. But you should tell Tony, he'll taunt you less."

Bucky snorts.

"I have one question, though," Bruce continues and Bucky tilts his head in a go-ahead. "The blood samples that were in storage after you went down, were they his or yours?"

It takes maybe two beats between Bucky asking himself what that has to do with anything and realization. Bruce was experimenting with...

"Mine, I think," he whispers. "SHIELD took blood to test it and they didn't discover I wasn't Steve. Fuck, Bruce, I'm sorry."

A head shake. "Not your fault."

"But–"

"My condition is not because of the serum. His immortality is."

"That doesn't make it better," Bucky returns.

Bruce laughs, that slow and low chuckle that raises goosebumps on Bucky's skin every time he hears it. "I've accepted it."

~

Noon finds them seated around the kitchen table, drinking strong coffee and eating burnt eggs. Bucky counts the hours, trying to refrain himself from checking the time every thirty seconds.

"How's Tony these days?" Nat asks Bruce.

"If you mean can he help, the answer is no." Bruce looks at them briefly, considering. Nat's already lifting an eyebrow inquisitively. "He's unwell. Pepper is at the limit of her patience. His friend, Rhodes, has been trying to get through to him, but Tony insists he's fine. Yeah, right, after almost dying in space," Bruce snorts at the table.

"He's not a soldier," Bucky murmurs.

"Even if he were," Nat adds.

"My fault," comes from Clint and it makes Bruce look at him, frown on his face.

"No it wasn't," he says, "and Tony knows that. It was those assholes who decided to nuke New York’s fault." He balls up his napkin and presses it between the table and his palm. "I don't trust SHIELD."

"Something is rotten there alright," Bucky agrees.

They've brought Bruce up to date with what they've been doing the day before. It was one long talk, that one.

"Look, if you need mayhem and destruction, I'm all yours. But keep Tony out of it, at least keep his involvement indirect. I'd call Rhodes for you, though I don't think he'll risk his career to go against a governmental organization, not without an official investigation."

"You're willing to let the Big Guy out for us," Natasha says, wonderment slipping through.

Next to Bucky, Clint is too quiet again, and Bucky focuses on him instead of the conversation on the other side of the table. He bumps their shoulders together.

"Not your fault," he repeats in a whisper. He's been telling Clint that for a long while now and he's not going to stop until Clint believes it.

"Maybe," is what Clint says, instead of his usual silence. Progress.

"Hello?"

In the doorway, in his half-naked glory, with the sheet wrapped around his middle, is Steve.

Awake.

"Steve," Bucky says, rising to his feet.

The other three follow suit, while Steve's eyebrows knit in a frown.

"Who the hell is Steve? And where am I?"

Bucky's pretty sure his mouth is hanging open and his knees have given out again, because he doesn't even register sitting back down.

"Who are you?" Steve continues asking.

"Who are _you_?" Nat counters, careful as she always is when faced with an unexpected situation.

"I..." Steve's frown deepens, but he looks into the space between them, searching inwardly. "I don't know," he says.

A painful sound escapes Bucky throat unabated and all eyes turn to him.

"Do you know me?" Steve asks.

"Yeah, I know you." He doesn't understand how he manages to keep his voice from shaking, but he won't complain. "You're Steve. My best guy."

Why the hell did he say that... he meant friend, best friend! But Steve's face breaks into a wide smile.

"Really?" he asks.

Before Bucky can reply, though, Steve sways, and that propels Clint ahead. Bucky helps by pulling out a chair for Steve to sit. Everything moves a little fast, as Bruce checks him over. Steve looks like he's in perfect health, aside from his memory loss. Bruce can't say if it's permanent or not.

The files from the vault mentioned mind wipes. Mentioned hypnosis tactics and all sorts of torture.

Bucky growls to himself as he paces the living room while Steve is scarfing down food provided by Clint in the kitchen. As he eats, Bruce asks him questions from a memory sheet to test how extended the amnesia is.

"I wanna know exactly what they did to him," he grits.

"Buck," Nat says, too gentle.

He presses his fists over his eyes for a moment before he focuses back on her. "You don't understand, he's–"

"Everything." Still too gentle. Kind.

"Yeah," Bucky breathes, sitting heavily on the sofa.

Steve falls asleep not long after eating, but this time he's actually sleeping instead of being in a state of suspended frost, and Bucky carries him back upstairs.

~

Bruce tells them that the usual signs of brain damage aren't there, but he can't be sure and that they should have more tests done. An MRI perhaps. There's a machine at the Stark Tower, in the medical section, but it's too risky to go there. It's even riskier to go anywhere else. At least at the tower Bruce can ask JARVIS to simulate an evacuation and they'd have the entire floor to themselves. Other places hold too many civilians that could become casualties, and the chance to be recognized – in case someone is hunting for them – is a lot higher.

Clint gets his hands on a plumber van and they sneak into the city undetected. From the underground parking beneath the tower and up to medical, JARVIS is kind enough to clear their way, redirecting security personnel and opening doors as they need it.

The AI is wired into everything, it seems, because JARVIS can even operate the MRI machine for them. In their haste, they forgot unimportant details like, oh, needing a technician. And an actual medical doctor to interpret the results.

Steve's sock covered toes wiggle imperceptibly as he's lying on the table, half his body away from view. Bucky finds himself smiling at that. The man never could sit still for long periods of time. Except when he was drawing. He wonders if Steve will ever draw again.

Bucky follows the aroma of fresh coffee out into the hallway, leaving Nat and Bruce behind in the observation room. He takes the plastic cup Clint offers, takes a sip, then bemoans the tragedy that is instant coffee. Clint agrees with a nod, right as the doors on the far side open with a bang and Tony strolls in, face hard, glaring, gait stilted. He looks upset.

"You thought you could hijack my JARVIS and I wouldn't know?"

"There was no hijacking," Clint counters, eyebrows raised.

"Hey, Tony," Bucky says. "We just needed a little help," he adds, throwing a thumb over his shoulder.

"And what, you break in, no hello, no dinner first?"

"I let them in," Bruce says as he joins them. Tony makes a face at him and Bruce shrugs. "You said to use whatever I wanted."

Tony rolls his eyes. "Well, I did say that. So. Capsicle?" Tony continues, turning toward Bucky with raised eyebrows and awaiting for an explanation.

"A friend might have brain damage and we had to check," Bucky tells him.

It earns him a grimace. "I knew it. You just want me for my gadgets," Tony jokes.

Bucky shrugs, playing along. "You know just the way to a boy's heart."

Next to them, Clint snickers and Bruce mutters "Oh, get a room."

"You're just jealous Steven likes me better," Tony quips at Bruce, which earns him a dismissive wave of hand.

But Bucky is suddenly unable to swallow. Another person to disappoint, coming right up.

"So, who's your friend and why couldn't you just go to a hospital?" Tony turns back to Bucky and Clint.

Throwing an apologetic look, Clint slinks off quietly. The traitor.

"It's Steve Rogers," Bucky says. Pull the bandaid quickly, might hurt less, right?

"What'd you do, get yourself cloned?" Tony returns, crossing his arms.

Ok, this is Tony. He's never going to react as expected. Bucky takes a deep breath.

"Yes and no," he says, then lifts both hands in front of him, gesturing as he explains. "Consider this," he begins and immediately has Tony's attention. "Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes grew up together."

"Why are you referring to yourself in the third person?" Tony interrupts, but Bucky ignores him.

"They shared life experiences, schools, knuckle bruising... everything. After enhancement, some people that didn't already know them couldn't tell them apart, not based on behavior anyway. Hair color can be changed after all."

Tony frowns.

"So what if they didn't die in the order history says they did? What if the world still needed Steve Rogers to be Captain America? What if the troops needed the morale boost?"

A blink comes from Tony as he considers this.

"That would make you... Barnes?"

"Yes."

A soft gasp leaves Tony's lips. "No wonder you dye your hair!" he says, raising both hands in the air, then smacking his palms over his thighs. "That color looks _terrible_ on you, by the way."

Bucky deflates. Tony is Tony but his answer warms him nonetheless.

"Scan is done," Nat calls from inside the observation room and they all follow through.

~

The next few hours are spent in a flurry of questions and answers with Tony already planning for avenues of action. He's wired up, postulates that Steve might be a clone, which scares Bucky more than it scares Steve. Turns out he's not a clone, thank you Bruce.

Natasha plays referee when Tony gets heated in his theorizing. Bucky's been delegated to a sofa in the now repaired living room at the top of the tower, Steve keeping himself seated at his side. He's been silent, Bucky notices, as he takes everything in with a sharp gaze. Bucky can almost see how he's calculating things, soaking up information, slotting things together, even though Steve doesn't actually seem aware of doing so.

The scan revealed no brain damage. Yet no memory has returned to Steve so far. Bucky is tired. He wants a moment of quiet to set his thoughts in order, to talk to Steve without an audience.

"What do you mean stay here and out of the way?" Tony grits, glaring at Bucky. "I’m Tony-fucking-Stark, ice cube."

Behind Tony, Bruce eyes the back of his head warily.

"Exactly," Bucky counters. "This is a covert organization, we can't be flashy."

That gets him an eye roll, but Tony doesn't stand down.

"Look, this might go sideways in a million different ways. There's a high chance we'll get caught. We need you out here with your army of lawyers to get us out."

"He's right, Tony," Natasha adds.

"It's why Bruce is staying behind, too," Bucky continues. Across the space, Bruce's gaze snaps at Bucky, immediately understanding. Oh, they could've used him, but Bucky would rather not have Bruce there if it means keeping Tony safe. Bruce shoots him a grateful nod.

"Actually," Clint says, "there's something else you might help us with. We have an encrypted flash drive, most likely with a homing algorithm embedded on it, so if we plug it in, whoever's it is will know we have it. Might even come after us."

Tony sighs, shoulders drooping, but then he snaps his fingers in a gimme gesture. Clint and Bruce follow him down to the lab while Nat checks in with Hill. Their supposed vacation is not due to end for another few days, but she wants to know if they were compromised already.

~

Bucky takes the opportunity to ask JARVIS for some food. He chooses Thai and Indian because he thinks Steve would enjoy those. He's not wrong.

"This was very good," Steve says as he pushes his empty plate away. "Is it my favorite?"

"I don't know," Bucky tells him. "When we were kids, we didn't have all these," he waves at the containers on the table.

Steve hangs his head. Bucky's told him, in large lines, who he is and how he got here, but it still must be a lot to take in.

"Everything is so confusing," Steve whispers, voicing Bucky's thoughts. "I don't understand any of it. And I'm hungry all the time."

That makes Bucky smile. Steve runs his fingers over his own cheek and chin, the small hairs there rasping softly as he does it.

"How about we get you a shave? You used to like a smooth face, maybe it will spark some memories?"

With a nod, Steve stands and Bucky takes them to one of the bedrooms he knows are not used at the moment. He hands Steve his kit and sits on the edge of the bed while Steve disappears into the bathroom.

"Uh... how do I use this?"

Bucky joins him and grins at the electric razor he forgot he uses now. It's a hell of an improvement over foam and blades.

"Here, let me help," he says, taking the device.

And again, he asks himself what the hell he's doing only _after_ he wraps his arms around Steve, plastered against his back, and tilts Steve's chin up so he can start on his neck.

Steve's eyes watch him through the mirror intently, and Bucky feels his cheeks heat, but he doesn't stop, not even when Steve leans back into Bucky, his arms wrapped around his own middle. He looks like that time after his ma's death, when Bucky gave him a haircut. He was sadder then. Right now he examines, absorbs, and it makes Bucky feel too open.

The motions are slow and intimate, only the buzzing of the razor overlapping their breathing.

"We look so much alike," Steve whispers after Bucky turns off the razor.

He runs his fingers over the skin of his cheek, but then he twists to face Bucky, repeats the motion on Bucky's.

"Do you, too," he breathes, and shifts to the side, leaning on the counter. He's just enough out of the way that Bucky can see himself in the mirror, but close enough that their legs are still touching.

He's lucky his hands aren't shaking. He concentrates on his task, ignoring the pink tint on his face, trying not to look at Steve. He's finished soon and he sets the device down.

"My hair's actually darker," he says in lieu of everything else he wants to tell Steve. All those things that make his heart pound in his chest under that blue gaze.

A corner of Steve's mouth lifts and he runs his eyes up and down Bucky's frame. "I wouldn't know," he murmurs. "Maybe you can give me another demonstration."

"What," Bucky rasps, throat suddenly dry, and he stumbles back a step.

He might have been frozen for seventy years, he might have lost his touch at flirting, but he can recognize a come-on if it's as blunt as this one. Steve was never this bold. And toward Bucky? No, he's imagining things.

Steve's face falls, and he straightens, raising his hands in front of himself apologetically.

"I'm sorry, I thought we were–"

"We were what," Bucky manages.

"Going steady. You said I was your best guy," Steve returns, brow already knitted with confusion. "Why would you tell me that if it weren't true?"

"I _wish_ it were true!" Bucky blurts. "But you don't want me, you never did!"

A sharp inhale later, he realizes what he's said and smacks his palm over his mouth. Steve blinks, eyes wide, ready to say something, but Bucky can't take it right now. He rushes away, out of the bedroom, and down the hallway.

~

He finds himself on the roof, sitting with his legs dangling down the side on the highest point of the tower.

He's terrified.

For Steve. For the memories he's lost.

 _Of_ Steve, as well.

Of himself. Because... because... it would be so tempting to lie to Steve, tell him yes, they were together and – fuck. No, he can't.

Something dark is looming over them. Apprehension has been clutching at his ribs ever since they found those helicarriers being built under the Triskelion, but he hasn't let it overwhelm him.

He's afraid for his friends and their future.

He's finally made connections in this new world, finally settled himself in a semblance of peace. Against all odds, Steve is here too, and even if he never remembers anything, Bucky is determined to rebuild their friendship.

He's found a purpose for himself.

But everything feels like it's balanced on a knife’s edge, always on the cusp of being taken away from him, and it makes him shake.

With a trembling breath, he presses the heels of his palms against his eyes, elbows on his knees, letting go of the pressure building there.

His sobs are scattered by the wind, his skin chilled with every minute he spends here, but he can't stop, can't swallow it back.

He doesn't know how long he's been here when warmth settles against his back. Long legs frame his, strong arms surround him, and Bucky closes his eyes. A heated forehead rests on his shoulder, burning through the thin material of Bucky's shirt against the cold settling in his bones.

"You're wrong," Steve says, his words carried away by the wind, but not before Bucky catches them. "The moment I saw you, I trusted you. No idea who you are, but what I do know is that you're important. My chest hurts when I look at you, I wanna touch, wanna be close. It must be so ingrained that I feel this even if I don't remember your face."

Steve goes silent and Bucky doesn't even know what to say to that. So he settles on wiping his cheeks, considering this revelation. Surely, Steve is mixing things up.

"It's the first time I’ve heard about it," he rasps.

"Maybe I never told you," Steve returns. "Maybe I was afraid. Heck, I'm afraid right now."

"Why," Bucky asks, his hands clutching at Steve's forearms where they cross around his middle.

"Why are _you_ ," comes back, gentleness infusing the words. "You don't have to say anything right now, just stay here for a bit."

Yeah, Bucky can do that, and he leans back, threading his fingers through Steve's.

He can stay here, sharing this warmth, for a while. At least until it's time for reality when his dreams will be just dreams again.

~

1943

"I was wondering..." Bucky starts, but has no idea exactly _how_ to ask what he wants to ask.

Next to him, Steve hums, concentrating on the target ahead. They're up on a hill, forest surrounding them. Steve needs to learn to shoot and Bucky needs to learn to fight with the shield, so they've been taking turns teaching each other their particular skills. Steve is too impatient to be a sniper, but once Bucky pointed it out, that stubborn streak of his made him lock his jaw with a gritted 'I can do it.'

Right now it's night and dark targets are harder, but Steve only missed by a couple of inches on his last two shots. Somewhere on their right, between the crests of two other hills, the camp stretches out, still animated by the evening commotion, despite its military dullness and the low spirits of the soldiers. Beyond that, there's a village, mostly destroyed, and beyond that, in the distance, are mountains. Somewhere north is the place where Zola– Bucky shudders.

He shifts on his back next to Steve and Steve twists to look at him instead of releasing another round.

The stars are hidden by the branches of the tree above them.

"Buck, you're not breathing."

The sharp inhale that follows is a little painful behind his ribs.

"Why do you keep doing that?"

"Dunno," Bucky mumbles. "Ever since..." he clears his throat. "He did something to me."

Steve is silent for a while, but then he sets the rifle down, rolls onto his back as well. "I know," he whispers.

They've been talking about this, but now Bucky is worried. _More_ worried.

"Last week," Bucky continues, fear slowly crawling up his throat, "when we took out that convoy, I was happy about it. Nobody should ever be happy about taking lives."

The breath he draws is shaky. He screws his eyes shut, listens to Steve being quiet and still.

"I don't wanna turn into Red Skull. Don't wanna be a monster," he whispers, half willing himself to be heard, hard wishing he wasn't.

A gasp, and weight rolls onto his side, then Steve's head comes to rest on his chest. Bucky's hands clutch at Steve's shoulders before he can stop them.

"You'll never be a monster," Steve says, loud and clear, with conviction in his voice. "And even if, you'd still be my friend."

The wind swoops in, rustling the branches above them. Bucky breathes, in and out, because the rustling of the leaves whispers 'you'd still be my Bucky,' as if the tree plucked at his hidden wishes and scattered them in the night.

"Come on," Steve says as he rolls away, taking with him the warmth and leaving Bucky to shiver, "show me again how to do this."

"Yeah," he rasps. "It's all in the breathing," Bucky says and takes the rifle to demonstrate. "It's going to give you tremors, so you gotta hold while you shoot."

Steve stares at him, with a weird look that Bucky is too wrung out to understand right now. It makes him squirm, though, so he shoves the rifle back, picks up his binoculars.

Maybe Steve's right and he won't become an abomination.

Steve's next shot hits the target, almost in its center. Soon, he'll make a believable Sgt. Barnes and Bucky smiles with half a mouth.

"Wanna switch next mission?"

"Yeah!" Steve grins. It's contagious.

~

2013

As soon as the shower turns on, Bucky walks out of the bedroom he's sharing with Steve and into the one Natasha and Clint are spending the night.

"What's up," Nat says from where she's reading, cross legged on the armchair in the corner while Clint's on the floor, leaning against her legs, an arrow dismantled on the carpet in front of him.

Bucky lifts his hands, opens his mouth, closes it, fists his fingers in his hair, then lets out a long exhale.

"That bad, huh," Nat answers him anyway, eyes going back to her book.

She seems absolutely disinterested, but Bucky's seen her do that to Clint whenever Clint had something to process. It works for Clint, and now it works for Bucky, too, because his thoughts arrange themselves in a slightly less incoherent mess.

"He came onto me," Bucky manages. "Said he trusts me somehow. Wants me."

At that, Clint lifts an arm above his head, palm extended, and Nat digs into her pocket then slaps a twenty on it.

Bucky blinks. "What was that?"

"What was what," Clint says, going back to examining a piece of his arrow against the light.

"Did you bet on my feelings?"

Nat closes her book and finally looks at Bucky. "No. It was about whether or not Steve already returns them or you'll win him over with your Barnesian charm in the future. Win-win for you."

Her smile is kind and warm and it makes Bucky's skin break out in goosebumps. With a sigh, he sits on the edge of the bed.

"What was that word..." Bucky murmurs, searching through the information he's absorbed in the past year. "Ah, yeah. I'm freaking out," he whispers.

"It's expected," Nat says. "The guy you've been secretly pining over for the past century likes you back."

"I don't know what to do." Bucky frowns.

"What's your first instinct?" she returns, leaning forward in the armchair.

"Hold on and never let go," Bucky whispers. Back up on that roof, with Steve's arms around him, he's had a glimpse of what he's been wanting since the first time he realized he had taken a liking to Steve that was different from how friends like each other.

"And why won't you?"

Bucky draws air in a large gulp, slowly lets it out. "He'll remember and hate me."

"Buck–" Nat starts, but Bucky shakes his head.

"You know I'm right."

A beat, and Nat nods, lips pressed in a thin like.

"And _I'm_ supposed to be the emotionally stunted one," Clint says, startling them both. "Just go in there and be his _friend_ ," Clint tells Bucky, waving at the door. "You were close for two decades, you can be close now. And if he wants more, just tell him no smooching until he gets his memories back and he's sure, 'cos it wouldn't be fair to either of you." Clint huffs, forehead scrunched up in worry.

Bucky rolls his eyes at himself so hard they hurt.

"Damn right," Clint mutters.

"Huh," comes from Nat as she studies the top of Clint's head. There's unrestrained warmth there and Bucky is again reminded how these two are letting their defenses down around him.

"But so you know," Clint continues, "I think he _really_ is attached to you. Or haven't you noticed that ever since he woke up he hasn't been more than an arm's length away from you? Except when he was in the MRI machine and when he went to the bathroom. But a person is entitled to bathroom privacy. I mean, who wants to see someone p–"

"If you say pee, you'll sleep on the floor."

Clint turns his head slowly, looking up at Natasha. He blinks, waits... and Nat smacks her own forehead. It draws a chuckle out of Clint. "But you said it, so does that mean that I get the bed to myself?"

Bucky finds himself smiling at their banter. He should be back in his own room, being a friend to Steve. After their current situation is resolved and Steve is safe from whomever kept him in that cryo chamber, only after, should he let himself be distracted. And Clint was right. He knows how to be a friend. Everything else can wait, and he's sure Steve won’t begrudge him that.

~

Steve is out of the shower when Bucky returns. He takes his turn in the bathroom, his thoughts in less of a frenzy than earlier. So when he re-emerges to find Steve hovering awkwardly around the bed, he puts on his best smile, and waves at the comforter.

"We used to sleep together a lot when we were kids. Brought the sofa cushions on the floor, hid under a blanket, and spent all night telling stories."

Steve is looking at him with a small smile and Bucky matches it, nodding his head at the bed. They both slide in, Bucky turning on his side toward Steve to find his position matched.

"What kind of stories?" Steve asks, voice low.

Bucky shivers. "Silly things that we thought were scary."

Nothing else follows as Steve watches him, so Bucky watches right back. He's missed his face so much, so damned much... He swallows, draws air, listens to the flutter of his own heartbeats. Steve shifts, then a caress starts from his temple down his cheek and Bucky almost pulls away, but there's a look of concentration on Steve's face that keeps him there.

"Bucky," Steve says. "James Barnes. Bucky."

Like he's forcing himself to remember.

It makes Bucky tremble.

It also makes him smile and Steve grins back at him before scooting closer. "Tell me one of those stories?"

Bucky's arms wrap themselves around Steve just like they used to, time and time again, back when Steve was sick and Bucky was shaking with the fear of losing him. He holds on tightly, voice a little too raspy as he recounts an old favorite, but Steve doesn't seem to mind. No, he never did.

~

Sudden pressure on his ribs and a shout wake Bucky. He almost pushes Steve away before he registers the harsh breathing, the wild eyes, the shaking. He places his hands on the comforter, where Steve can see them as he sits there heaving.

"You're good. You're alive. Let's breathe together," and Bucky draws air visibly, then let's it out slowly.

He repeats, holding Steve's gaze, forcing himself to stay calm, no matter how much he wants to hug tightly and never let go. He's had his share of nightmares and has woken Clint from a few himself. Not even Nat managed to avoid a black eye once, but Bucky's learned since.

He breathes and waits.

It takes a while, but Steve soon starts winding down. Bucky motions that he wants to climb off, and Steve nods, making room. He brings back a glass of water, sits on the edge of the mattress.

"Drink slowly," he says and waits for Steve.

"Thanks," comes back in a rasp. Steve's fingers begin to lose their purchase on the glass, so Bucky takes it, placing it on the nightstand.

He needs to comfort, and he lets his hand wrap itself around Steve's shoulder, but Steve flinches away hard enough to scoot back on the bed.

Bucky stills.

But then... Steve's gaze skitters from Bucky's hand to his face and he's inside of Bucky's arms with the next heartbeat. His face is pressed against Bucky's neck and all Bucky can do is hold tightly, rub his back as his frame starts trembling.

The first sob rips through him with a sharp pang.

The wetness seeping onto his skin tightens around his ribs.

Bucky's sure his fingers will leave bruises, that's how hard he's holding onto the other man.

"It hurt so much," Steve wheezes between sobs.

"What did?" Bucky asks, although he really doesn't _want_ to and he absolutely _needs_ to know.

"I don't remember," Steve gasps, "but it hurt. And the-the child, they shot a child b-b-because I c-couldn't kill him..."

"Shh," Bucky croons, although his own eyes are filling already and his chest hurts for Steve. "I got you now, you're safe, I'm here."

He keeps repeating the same litany until dawn breaks and Steve is dried out.

They only part from their cocoon under the blanket when JARVIS announces breakfast is ready.

~

They all eat together in the main room overlooking the deck. Tony bemoans Pepper's absence, but quickly gets distracted by Bucky and Steve. He's been staring at them for a while now.

"What," Bucky growls with a frown.

"This is amazing," Tony whispers, interest shining in his eyes. He looks like a child with a new toy and it makes Bucky suddenly wary. "Bruce, are you seeing this?"

"Yes, saw it," Bruce mumbles around his mouthful.

"What," Bucky grits, a little louder this time.

Tony rests his chin in his hand and moves his index finger between him and Steve. "It's like watching clones eat," he says.

It makes Bucky shake his head, and when he looks over, Steve's just now realizing that they do have the same mannerisms, from how they hold the fork to where they keep their free hand while they chew. Bucky smirks and winks at him before leaning conspiratorially into Steve's side.

"Imagine us in a fight," he says, "throwing the shield back and forth like it was living thing."

A chair scrapes against the floor and Tony's suddenly on his feet. "I wanna see that. Now."

It makes Bucky laugh. "No. Finish your food."

"Come the fuck on, capsicle."

"Language, Anthony."

Bruce laughs quietly behind his palm, but Clint is not so shy. Tony mumbles and narrows his eyes at Bucky, but Bucky plasters a smirk on his face, until Tony sits back down and stabs at his toast. He looks Bucky straight in the eyes, leaning closer over the table.

"I am never letting you live that down," he says, voice low. But his lips wobble and he bursts into laughter.

Bucky smiles at him.

"Really though," Tony continues as he chews, "that shield thing would be cool to see."

Of course it would be, but Bucky doesn't want to risk splitting Steve's skull open. He shakes his head. "Too dangerous."

Tony goes 'aw' in chorus with Clint.

"I wanna try," Steve says and that settles it.

~

Tony's gym is impressively large. It also has nice mats to fall on without breaking bones. Bucky is a little more at ease. All he has to do is not throw too hard.

"Ready?" he asks Steve and receives a nod while the others watch from the side.

He throws lightly, Steve catches, twists, and next thing he knows Bucky has to contort when gripping the edge of the shield in order to not get hit in the face.

Across the room, Steve is gaping.

"Muscle memory," Tony comments.

"I wanna try something," Nat says.

Before Bucky can stop her, she's jumping Steve, only to be thrown down, Steve's knee pressing on her back.

"Ow," she says.

Steve stumbles back, watching his own hands with wide eyes.

"No, it's good, Rogers," Nat continues as she picks herself up. "You can still fight, it's a good sign."

"I think the rest of the amnesia is temporary," Bruce adds. "Did you remember anything? Anything at all?"

Steve looks at Bucky.

"Not sure," he says.

"Ok, let's try again," Bucky interrupts, getting a grateful look from Steve.

He throws the shield without warning and Steve is as graceful as he used to. It's like watching a dancer. Clint jumps in after a few passes and that's when things get interesting. Bucky grins, topples Clint off before he finds himself with Natasha straddling his shoulders.

They make a good team and have the assassins on the mat in a few minutes.

"Not fair," Clint says. "Switch it up?"

"Romanov with Rogers," Tony calls from the side.

Nat shrugs and Clint only has a fraction of a second to roll away from her.

Soon, even Bruce starts encouraging them, and he banters with Tony about whose team is going to pin the other down. Neither can, and the four of them end up sprawled on the mats, with Tony and Bruce looming over them.

"I'm disappointed," Tony says, mocking a clutch to his own heart, but he's smiling and so is Bruce.

Bucky enjoys the burn to his muscles and the opportunity to clear his head.

~

"If you're going after whoever had me, I want in," Steve says and Bucky startles.

He's been cleaning their weapons while waiting for them to regroup for a strategy session. He shakes his head.

"I can fight. You saw it."

Another head shake. Steve shifts behind him, and Bucky can imagine him crossing his arms.

"I'm going."

A pained laugh makes its way out of Bucky's throat before he can stop it. That's so like Steve that he... With an inhale, he turns.

"Of course you are," he breathes.

The smile Steve returns is too bright to endure.

~

1943

The air is cooling over the city as Bucky stands on the rooftop, overlooking the dark skyline. _Their_ rooftop.

But tonight he is alone. In the distance, the lights of the Stark Expo are still visible among the still-bright windows dotting the surrounding buildings. He left Steve there. He's leaving New York in the morning.

Bucky's been waiting, but something in his gut tells him Steve's not coming and he refuses to be hurt by it.

He hasn't seen Steve smile for months. He hoped it would happen at the sight of flying cars and other wonders of the future. Maybe at his date. Bucky would've taken anything.

 _Anything_. To see it one last time.

Before he goes, probably to die. Before he leaves Steve here, probably to die as well.

He's numb already and it's not because of the wind.

"Goodbye."

~


	5. Falling Upward, Into the Night

2013

The sun is halfway below the horizon, giving the evening air an orange tint, and Bucky leans back in his seat, hands on the steering wheel. Next to him, Steve watches the parking lot with tension in his shoulders. They're outside a large mall waiting for Clint and Nat to read the drive – with a decryption algorithm Tony wrote for them – in a computer inside store there. It will give them enough anonymity and if need be, they can get lost in the crowd.

"Do you think I'll ever remember?"

Steve is looking at him like he did when he used to wonder if he'd ever be healthy and Bucky clears his throat.

"I hope so," he says, even though a part of him secretly wishes otherwise so Bucky won't have to return to biting back his feelings.

But that would be too selfish of him.

The doors of the car open, and Nat and Clint slide in the backseat.

"Got an address," Nat says. "We mostly likely got pinged, so we should get out of here."

Bucky pulls out of the parking spot while Clint leans in between the seats to show them an aerial image he's taken with his phone, target marked with a red dot. He reads it out loud and it niggles at Bucky's memories.

"Training," Steve says and of course. "Why am I thinking of training grenades?"

"That's the camp where you did your military training," Bucky tells him.

"Coincidence?" Nat asks.

Bucky shrugs a shoulder, accelerating. "I guess we'll see."

~

The compound is already covered in darkness when they arrive.

"Does it ring any bells?" Bucky asks Steve as they stand outside the fence.

Steve shakes his head.

"Ok," Clint says, "here's the plan. Nat and Bucky go in, see what's what. The two of us," he points at Steve, "will stand on lookout, provide back up."

Bucky couldn't agree more and he says as much as he retrieves the shield from the trunk.

"I wanna go in," Steve's voice makes him halt.

"No," Bucky returns.

Next to him, Steve opens his mouth, but Bucky presses his palm over it.

"Please," he says, putting every ounce of worry he has behind the word. "Just this once, please." Thankfully, Steve nods, although it's shaky, and Bucky pushes the shield into his hands. "Keep this safe until I return, ok?"

And he goes before he does something stupid.

He can feel Nat watching him as they advance inside the camp, but he focuses on his surroundings instead.

Huh. A building that should not be there, not by military regulations anyway. He points it out, and they make their way inside. Looks like this used to be a SHIELD base. Peggy and Howard's younger selves are watching them from two photographs hanging on a wall... and of course there's a secret elevator. Of course.

The basement they end up in is dark and dusty, but not nearly as undisturbed as it should. Bucky draws his weapon; Nat quietly releases the safety on hers.

There are no noises.

Nat takes a step forward and the space around them lights up, rows of fluorescent tubes overhead illuminating rows of machinery underneath.

"Old computers," Nat says.

But something isn't right. Among all the dust there are streaks that shouldn't be there.

"What's a USB port doing connected to this ancient thing?" Nat adds and that draws Bucky's attention.

"Do you think–"

"Yep."

Nat fishes the thumb drive out of a pocket and plugs it in.

The system boots up.

And Zola's face taunts them from the monitor, revealing that his consciousness has been stored on the machines in the room. He doesn't seem aware that Bucky is Bucky and not Steve while he reveals the works of HYDRA for the past decades. The organization has been hiding within SHIELD and it turns Bucky's stomach.

He punches at a monitor only to have Zola's face pop up on another.

But the pain in his knuckles is not without its rewards, because Zola tells them exactly what they plan to do with the new helicarriers being built under the Triskelion.

Just as they're about to leave, Zola cackles about stalling them and the ground shakes. Bucky punches him again, even though it's just a picture of his face.

An aerial strike.

As the structure falls around them, all he can think of is that Steve's outside, Clint's outside, and how to push harder on the beam that's almost crushed them so Nat can take cover.

~

By the time Bucky and Nat make their way out of the rubble, daylight has broken over the city, its skyline visible in the distance. The compound is destroyed around them, no sign of Steve or Clint.

"Are you all right?" Nat asks, leaning heavily into Bucky's side. She can probably feel his frantic heartbeats through his ribs, that's how heavily it seems to be beating.

"Yes," he says.

"I need you focused. We'll find them."

Bucky is about to argue, but then remembers that Nat and Clint are as close as they come and if _she's_ doing this when faced with gruesome possibilities, then so can he.

Focus.

"Saw a pay phone on the road when we drove here," she says. "Let's call Bruce."

~

Tony and Bruce are both there on speaker when the call connects.

"There's agents around the tower for three blocks," is the first thing Tony says.

"Ok," Bucky sighs, "keep your distance, let them look, but don't interact."

"Will do."

"Clint and Steve were arrested and brought to a safe house downtown," Bruce says.

"How do you know?"

"Well," Tony starts, "there was that one time I hacked SHIELD and I might've left some doors for JARVIS to access if it ever got necessary."

"Don't underestimate SHIELD techs, Tony," Nat warns.

"Won't, I'm doing this remotely. If anyone figures out they're hacked, it will appear as if I'm in Antarctica. That's where I sent a suit with JARVIS on board," and he sounds so smug, that Bucky can't help but smile.

"They'll know it's your suit," he can't help but add.

"No," Tony counters, "because the suit has a laptop that I can type on. What do you take me for? I _said_ I'm doing it _remotely_."

Bucky lets out a low whistle. "Great thinking there, Mr. Stark."

"Can you give us the address to the safe house?"

"Nope," Tony says. "There's no mention of location, just a code number. Ugh, it's changing, what the..."

Bruce says something in the background and Tony replies, away from the mic of the phone.

"Looks like it's a cypher of some sort," comes next, louder, "I'll try breaking it, but maybe you should ask this guy that requisitioned the location yesterday."

"What's his name?" Nat asks.

"Sitwell. Looks like he's going to attend an event later today," and he gives them the name of a hotel downtown.

"Thanks," Nat grits. "We'll try to call again."

"Yeah," Tony returns. "I'll make sure my lines stay secure."

If there ever were a murderous glare in Nat's eyes, Bucky thinks this would be it.

"Focus," Bucky repeats her own words back to her and receives a nod. "We'll need a place to clean up and regroup before we go grab Sitwell. Where do you go when people are trying to kill you?"

Nat's smile is cold. "Somewhere unexpected."

~

1944

Steve is furious. He's so mad, he almost seems calm on the outside, despite his eyes gleaming cold. That is, when he isn't snarling at everyone that comes near them as they walk back to camp.

The commandos have been giving them both a wide berth since two miles ago. Bucky sighs.

"I'm sorry I got captured," he says. Again.

A sound comes from Steve and Bucky can't tell if it's a growl or not. He's afraid to look at this point. He knew it, he wasn't meant to be Captain America and this just proves it.

"Look, I'm sorry I screwed up."

"They had you," Steve grits.

"For an hour," Bucky counters. "I got out."

"We were coming to get you."

"Sorry you wasted your time," he barks, irritation swirling through him. He's apologized ten times already. What the heck is Steve's problem? "And sorry I dishonored the suit," he adds.

He's not good enough and the realization stings.

But Steve stops suddenly and Bucky turns to look. He doesn't really want to, but they're still in enemy territory. It would be stupid if he got them all in a fight because he was too busy pitying himself to pay attention to the forest.

Steve's looking at him, though, mouth slack and eyes wide. A moment later he glares at Bucky, strides closer and grabs him by the leather strap on his shoulder. He picks up the pace, dragging Bucky forward.

He won't be manhandled like a child, thank you, so Bucky pushes away. "I already said I'm sorry. What else do you want?"

"You were captured!"

"So I was stupid enough to get caught. Fine!"

Steve rounds on him, then. The tendons of his neck are taut as he grabs Bucky by the front of the suit. "I almost lost you!"

The shout is loud enough to startle birds. The guys have stopped around them.

"And the suit is lucky to have you, asshole," Steve grits as he lets go, before stalking off again.

Bucky's heart beats too hard against his ribs as he tries to understand what just happened.

"You know he leveled an entire base to get you out last time," Dum Dum says as he walks closer.

"No," Bucky counters, "he came for everyone."

Dum Dum snorts and Bucky scoffs.

"Come on." Dum Dum nudges him forward and Bucky is too confused to resist.

But Steve is back to his old self the next day and Phillips declares that it wasn't Bucky's fault and Peggy confirms it, so Bucky forgets about the whole thing.

~

2013

When they appear at his window, Sam lets them in without pause. He even helps check out their bruises. Nothing is broken or dislocated, and Bucky breathes easier. The way Nat has been favoring one leg on their way here has been worrisome so Sam wraps an icepack around her knee while they eat.

Bucky tells him everything. It's the least he can do for Sam's help and it wouldn't be fair to leave him in the dark when they're putting him in danger. What's even more surprising, though, is that Sam offers his help, even provides a very impressive file to back him up.

"I can't," Bucky tells him, shaking his head. "You got out for a reason."

"Dude," Sam returns, "Captain America needs my help."

"I'm not Ca–ow!" Bucky rubs the back of his head, where Nat smacked him, and glares at her.

"You're _not_ Cap?" Sam leans onto the table. "You wanna tell me that guy who fought aliens in New York is not Cap? 'Cos sure as hell looked that way to me, and my eyes are fine."

Bucky slides lower in his chair and he knows he's pouting, but the way Sam speaks warms him against his better judgment. "Steve Rogers is Captain America," he mutters.

With a head shake, Sam straightens and crosses his arms. "Cap's a symbol. Not just one dude. He's a hero that's been keeping scared kids brave at night, that's been inspiring people to fight for what's right. It's what it _stands_ for, not who's wearing the suit."

He hasn't thought of it that way and he doesn't know what to say. Sam sighs, rubs a hand over his face.

"If you really want your ego soothed, though, I _know_ you. Know _you_. You're my friend and I'd help you even if you weren't Cap."

Sam is a friend and Bucky lowers his eyes, cheeks heating. Now that he thinks about it, Sam's accepted this him being Barnes instead of Rogers thing pretty easily. He feels small.

"I'm sorry," he says.

On the other side of the table, Sam sits down. "Don't," he counters. "You being you explains so much."

"It does, doesn't it," Nat throws in, and Bucky looks between them.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means," Sam says, "that history hasn't done right by you, and if I were in your shoes, hearing left and right how great Rogers is, I'd be insecure as hell."

"I'm–" He wants to deny it, even though he realizes how true it is, but Sam stops him with a smirk.

"Don't worry, you're still pretty to me."

Bucky rolls his eyes and throws his balled up napkin at him.

"Ok," Nat says, "if you two are done flirting and if you," she tells Bucky, "are done second guessing yourself, I'd like to remind you that you were able to keep up with me and Clint when not even Coulson could. And he was Fury's right-hand man. Think about that."

With a groan, Bucky buries his face in his palms.

"Besides," Sam adds, "whose face do you think people see when they hear about Captain America? Yours. Whose eyes do you think all those teenagers are fapping to right now?"

"Fuck, Sam!" Bucky yelps, but laughter bubbles up inside of him.

"No, just masturbation."

Nat cackles loudly next to them, shoulders shaking. "If Clint were here to see your face, Barnes."

... and she stops, frozen.

Bucky's throat closes around a heavy lump. "Let's go get them," he says, and it's met with nods.

As he gets ready, he takes the time to process this. It becomes clear that he hasn't been embracing his role, been thinking of himself as a poor copy. It didn't occur to him while he thought Steve was gone, but now that he's here, alive, Bucky's been – he's not sure what he's been doing.

Cap isn’t what it was seventy years ago when Steve Rogers was synonym to Captain. No, Bucky's seen the comics and the novels and the movies. In the past two decades, Cap's been of all races, genders, and even various ages.

Cap is not Bucky or Steve in the singular. Cap is every person fighting for the little guy.

Bucky nods at himself. He can do right by it. He _is_ going to embrace it and honor it.

The symbol.

The fight.

~

It only takes them a couple of hours to get Sam's wings from the military base at the southern edge of the city. Then, they scope the target area and find agents posted around the plaza that hosts the hotel. From their radio chatter, they get Sitwell's location and his exit route.

Making the agent go where they want him is easy, especially when Sam threatens him with a hidden shooter. Bucky smirks behind his scope, keeping the laser pointer steady.

Apparently the only way to make Sitwell talk is to throw him off a roof, and Bucky would've pushed him off himself, if he didn't think it would satisfy Nat's murderous streak more than it would his own. Bucky needs to break some actual bones right now.

He gets his chance when their car is attacked while they're on route to the safe house.

He fights with a vengeance, while Brock Rumlow, member of the strike team that accompanied them on that hostage mission, smirks at him. Bucky fucking knew there was something off about the guy. He gets a punch in, but they have electric prods, and not even Bucky can withstand two of those discharging into his ribs at the same time. He finds himself on his knees, four weapons trained on him, and he refrains from attacking back when he sees Nat going down.

She's hit but she's moving, and Rumlow drags her closer. Sam is pushed into his line of sight as well.

They're surrounded.

By both guns and news crews. Rumlow decides to take them in, and Bucky finds himself strapped in a van, heavy manacles already in place. Who the hell did they transport in here...

But he doesn't have time to spare it more thought than that. One of their guardians knocks out the other. Next thing he knows, Maria Hill is looking at them in her usual no-nonsense style, asking about Sam and breaking them out.

Another van is waiting for them close by, and they hurry, while Sam keeps pressure on Nat's shoulder wound. The car smells like peaches.

"So we've got a guy that looks exactly like you," Hill tells Bucky from where she's huddled on the metal floor next to him.

"And Clint?" Nat asks.

Hill nods. "Fury got shot breaking them out. In the leg. He'll live."

Relief washes through Bucky unabated and he feels a million times lighter. Judging by Nat's face, it's the same for her.

"Care to explain the blond hunk that refuses to tell us his name?"

"He's Captain Rogers," Bucky says.

"Be serious," Hill returns.

"He is," Nat says, followed by Sam admonishing her to keep still.

"If so, then who're _you_ supposed to be?" Hill turns a raised eyebrow at Bucky.

"Sergeant Barnes, ma'am," he says, throwing a sloppy salute in for good measure.

Hill is usually so stoic that her face displays even less emotion than Nat, so seeing her gaping is that much sweeter. Bucky leans back with a chuckle, impatient to get back to Steve.

~

1934

With a sniffle, Becca curls tighter under the blanket. Ma's been more tired than usual all week, Becca might have the sniffles, and Ma can't get sick right now, when money's tight. So Bucky doesn't mind if he gets it instead. He covers Becca with half his blanket as well.

"What do you think a soul is?" Becca asks all of a sudden.

Bucky scratches his head as he stares at the ceiling. "I dunno," he mumbles. "Father Mulcahy says–"

"I think," Becca interrupts, "that souls tell us apart. It says I'm me and you're you and we're different in here," she taps at her temple, "like our bodies say we're different on the outside, too."

"Have you been reading science fiction again?"

She kicks him, hard. "I love science fiction."

"Ow, ow, I know, sorry," Bucky returns, rubbing at his leg under the blanket.

"You should try it, might remove some of the stupid."

"Gee, Becks."

Becca chuckles, delicate as she ever appears, but she's her Ma's daughter and she's tougher than most fellas Bucky knows.

"But what's strange," she continues after a beat, "is you and Steve."

"What's strange about us?"

"You're too alike."

Bucky snorts and rolls his eyes.

"Even Ma thinks so, even Ma Rogers," Becca says.

His heart flutters behind his ribs, and Bucky tries to stop it. But it's too late, he's invaded again by how badly he wants to be with Steve, and he's doubtful he'll get any sleep now. He rolls on his side with his back to his sister.

"He's a stubborn punk," Bucky mutters.

"And you're not."

A smile creeps on his lips despite himself. "Night, Becca."

"Night, Bucky."

He'll think about it tomorrow. Right now, he chooses to think of Steve and how his face lights up sometimes when the sunset's really pretty over the city.

~

2013

"Something kept feeling _wrong_ about project Insight," Fury says.

They're all seated at a table in a musty room inside a decommissioned dam. Nat's been patched up, the wound was through and through, but she's lost quite a bit of blood. Clint's still clutching at his ribs. Thankfully, they're not broken, but his mobility is screwed, at least for the next few days. Fury needs a cane to get around and he already popped his stitches once when Hill brought them in.

So far, Fury's told them about intercepting Clint and his mysterious companion at the safe house, brought in by secretary Pierce's orders. A short fight later, they were out, but wounded. Even the shield, which is now sitting against a wall, waiting to be picked up. Hill got Fury's call and joined him with a med team and two other agents, but that's all they got right now.

In turn, Bucky relayed what they learned from Zola's virtual ghost.

"I never thought I'd be going against HYDRA," Hill says, "ever."

"It's not just HYDRA," Bucky says. "It's plain hatred. They plan on using the helicarriers to wipe out everyone that doesn't fit their description of obedience."

"Are you sure about this?" Fury asks.

"Yes," Nat tells him. "Zola said he wrote a targeting algorithm himself. I know, he could have lied, but he was sure we wouldn't make it out alive. Besides, his overconfidence tells me they have a lot of supporters. And we have no way of knowing who's SHIELD and who's HYDRA. Take Sitwell for example. You've known him what, ten years?"

Nick leans into the table, a hand rubbing over his mouth. "We need to figure out a way to separate them, contain the–"

"No," Bucky says before he catches himself. "Take it all down."

There's a beat of silence, heavy and immovable, as Nick stares Bucky down.

"He's right," Nat rasps from the side.

"We gotta out ourselves to out the bad guys," Clint adds.

Footsteps fall in rapid succession and one of the other two agents runs in with a phone. "Mr. Stark for agent Barton, sir."

Clint groans, but wobbles out into the hallway, snatching the phone and barking into the receiver. Bucky can swear he hears Tony yelp on the other side, but that could be just the echo of the place.

Fury takes a look around the table. "You all agree with this?"

"I'm with him," Steve says, throwing a thumb at Bucky.

"I go where they go," Sam responds.

"Well, sir," Hill says, "looks like you're outnumbered."

"And outgunned," Fury mutters. "How do you propose we do this?"

"I have a plan," Clint says, walking back in. "Pierce convened the WSC. Tony says there's chatter about a big launch tomorrow at noon. We don't have much time."

"And _who_ put _you_ in charge?" Fury asks.

Clint stops, blinks. His gaze travels the room slowly, until it settles on Bucky and all Bucky thinks of doing right now is wink.

"I did," Clint looks back at Fury. "Now, do you want to succeed or do you want to talk about it some more?"

"Took you long enough," Fury mutters with an eye roll as he lifts himself gingerly from the chair. "Lead the way, Hawkeye."

Clint throws Nat a half terrified look as he walks out with Fury, but she waves him off. Yeah, he's got this.

Bucky turns to Steve, points at the Cap suit spilling out from a bag in the corner. "How about we pick up a suit for you, too?"

"Hell yeah," Sam exclaims, bouncing to his feet. "Double Cap!"

~

Bucky surveys the shape of the Triskelion in the distance, then moves to examine the small circuit boards in his palm. Each of the three hosts a chip that will thwart the algorithm written by Zola, Tony has guaranteed it. It took Bucky an entire hour to convince Tony to stay out of the fight. This is going to be a mess for everyone, and Tony only agreed to keep himself hands clean if it meant shielding good agents from the wrath of other powers after they make everything public.

Sam and Steve join him and Bucky gives them a chip each.

Maria walks past them, rolls her neck and shoulders. "Ready, boys?"

"After you," Steve says and they're off.

Accessing the Triskelion is not easy, especially since it's just the four of them, but they fight, trying not to mortally wound anyone. On the other side of their front, Nat and Clint and Fury are infiltrating the WSC delegation so they can expose Pierce and HYDRA to the world.

Steve takes out a guard with the shield which then flies to Bucky. He straps it to his back, moves forward, a few steps, but Sam doesn't follow. Bucky turns to find him watching with a big grin.

"This shouldn't be as hot as it is," Sam says.

Bucky growls, but before he can say anything, Steve runs past Sam, flicks Sam's ear. "Move it, soldier!"

Sam raises his eyebrows, exchanging a look with Bucky. "Sir, yes, sir."

Bucky shakes his head with a small huff of laughter. More and more of Steve is coming to the surface.

They soon make their way into one of the auxiliary stations that can give them access to the helicarriers. Hill shoves the mic of the intercom system at him and Bucky opens his mouth before closing it again. He has no idea what to say. How to explain why they're attacking SHIELD.

Steve snatches it from his hand and speaks. He talks about what's hidden beneath the water, about right and wrong and calls for everyone to fight. It's impressive and Bucky can't take his eyes off of him.

Sam lets out a hum. "That just came to you, out of the blue," he says, at which it registers to Steve himself.

He puts the mic down, a light dusting of pink high on his cheeks. "Was that ok?" he asks Bucky.

"Yeah," Bucky tries to say, but it comes out as an indecipherable sound, so he clears his throat and tries again. "It was perfect."

"Never even had a chance, did I?" Sam says, looking between Steve and Bucky, but mostly at Bucky.

He shrugs, apologetic while Sam shakes his head, muttering something inaudible to himself.

"You're all cute enough to give me a rash," Hill deadpans. "Get to work," and she snaps her fingers.

It propels them into action. The fight is not over, not until these massive weapons are eliminated. So they make their way down, toward the hangar, only to see the three massive aircraft lifting up from beneath the river. Change of course then, and they're soon out on the quinjet landing platform.

"Sam, can you take us up?"

"Yeah, but only one at a time."

"Good," Bucky returns, "take Steve first."

Disagreement comes from Steve; just as Sam snatches him upward, Rumlow's strike team runs toward Bucky. He readies the shield. Out of the corner of his eye, a quinjet hovers to his level, guns trained on him.

Bucky jumps. Throws and runs and kicks and soon the quinjet crashes into the asphalt while the agents scatter.

"Mine's done," Steve says through his earpiece.

But the reprieve is short, the roaring of motorcycles heralding the arrival of backup. Bucky takes stock of his surroundings. He's open, vulnerable.

Just then, blue flashes to his side while Steve rolls to a stop a few feet in front of Bucky, between him and the other agents. Above, Sam's wings cast a fleeting shadow as he flies back up.

"Going for beta," Sam says.

"Wait," Bucky calls him back. "Take mine, too, we'll keep these guys away from the jets."

Sam confirms and swoops back down, while Bucky throws the chip upward. It's caught easily and then Sam's flight takes a steep incline as he goes toward the other two helicarriers.

Steve grins back at Bucky before he takes off on a sprint and Bucky can't help but match it, adrenaline pumping through his veins. He builds momentum by spinning a few times, then throws the shield. It bounces off a motorcycle, making it flip in the air, before Steve catches it and used his own speed to jump directly onto another agent. Bucky runs into the fray as well, and they fall back to their old rhythm, steadily taking out their attackers.

Steve elbows one last guy and they stand there, catching their breaths for a second, before rushing back out on the tarmac, eyes scanning the sky for Sam.

" _Soldat!_ " comes from the side and upwards.

Bucky turns to find Rumlow perched up on a stack of crates, megaphone in his hand. The tap of boots behind him tells Bucky there are at least two other bogies there, and he tries to pinpoint their exact positions without looking, fingers tightening on the edge of the shield.

Rumlow yells something in... Russian? Why Russian of all things?

Sam transmits that the second chip is on.

And Steve falls to his knees.

"Steve?" Bucky starts, but doesn't get to say much more.

"Wanna know what we did to your precious Bucky, Captain?" Rumlow shouts, this time without the megaphone, which he throws away so that he can grab his guns from their holsters. "We wiped him, conditioned him. Made him a perfect little soldier. Obedient little bitch! _Soldat, ataka!_ "

Steve's shoulder connects with Bucky's middle and he's propelled backwards, skidding on the asphalt while sound stretches until it's only a ringing in his ears. Steve stands, eyes cold above him, and he takes off his cowl, throws it aside.

Distantly, he hears Sam yelling, followed by gunshots. Hill says something. But Bucky can't take his eyes off of Steve, who picks up the shield, raises it above his head–

Bucky rolls away while sparks flow from the point of contact between the shield's edge and the ground.

"He didn't even remember you!" Rumlow shouts while Bucky evades another blow. "All he said was his own name, over and over like a broken fucking record!"

Bucky manages to grip the shield, and uses Steve's momentum to throw him to the side.

"Bucky, Bucky, Bucky, Bucky!" Rumlow keeps shouting, getting closer.

His laughter grates on Bucky's ears, but... Steve wasn't saying his own name. Steve held on to _Bucky_ instead of himself and something painful lodges itself in the back of Bucky's eyes, stinging, while the constricting weight around his ribs dissipates with this knowledge.

"You _know_ me," he tells Steve, who is coming toward Bucky with single minded focus. "Don't make me fight you. Come on, Stevie, remember."

He parries a blow, kicks Steve back. He advances on Bucky again, but this time he changes tactics. Bucky is too surprised to react in time. Pair that with Steve's strength, and Bucky finds himself in a headlock, barely managing to elbow his way out. He goes down anyway, rolls on his back, but Steve's already there, pinning him down, raining blow after blow.

"You know me," he tries, words slurring. He lets his hands fall to the sides. "I'm your pal. I'm Bucky."

"Shut up!" Hit and pain and hit and pain.

"Nah, Stevie. Won't leave you like this. With you to the end of the line, yeah?"

He half laughs, half coughs blood with it, expecting that one final blow.

It never comes.

Steve is frozen above him, eyes wide and mouth slack.

A beat, and he scrambles back, off of Bucky, looking between his bruised knuckles and Bucky's face.

Breaths too shallow, air too little, Bucky drags himself to his knees.

Rumlow approaches from behind Steve. "Finish him off," he yells, still a distance between them.

Yet, Steve keeps staring at Bucky as if he's seeing him for the first time. "I could do this all day," Steve says.

"Of course you could," Rumlow returns, coming closer. Above the water, the helicarriers fire at each other, bits of flaming metal raining down. They won. The world is safe.

"Bucky?"

And Bucky can't help but grin, the metallic taste of blood filling his mouth. Steve turns, drawing the gun from his leg holster and pointing it at Rumlow, who stops a few steps away.

"Oh, fuck it," he spits. "We never could keep him under for more than ten minutes anyway."

He shoots.

Time slows.

He shoots before Steve can, and red bursts from Steve's torso. He stumbles back and Bucky surges forward.

He pushes, pushes against the pain, screams and hurts and Steve falls back with a thud.

The fractions of a single second crawl around Bucky, stretching him thin.

Until there's only pain, sharp and singular, through his chest.

Red flows over the star there, covering the white and the blue with life.

Steve watches the sky, as they lie next to each other, the blue of his open eyes crystal and liquid at the same time. His fingers are unmoving as Bucky's own grapple at them.

There's still a gun out there, but Bucky can't make himself look at it, because... because Steve finally remembered.

A bird flies over, casting a shadow.

Bucky dreams.

~

1923

"Steve's the name. Who are you?"

"I'm Buchanan."

"What kind of name is that?"

"One that nobody will forget," he says, snapping at his suspenders.

"Buch–Bu–how about Bucky?"

He rolls his eyes. This kid is small, puff of blond hair over his face, no wonder he can't fight if he can't see. He uses his hand to push it away from the kid's face. So pretty. So blue. Just like the sky.

"Sure," Bucky shrugs. "Wanna watch for planes?"

They lie in the grass for hours.

"Hey, Bucky. Wanna be best friends?" It's small and frail and comes with a cough.

Bucky grins. "Sure!"

A large bird flies high in the sky.

Bucky dreams. Of growing up and being best friends with the stubbornest kid around. The one whose soul called to Bucky's before he even knew what a soul was.

The one like him.

A dreamer.

~


	6. This Soul We Share

2013

"Then I swooped in and kicked that motherfucker in the face," Sam tells Nat as they stand next to the headstone.

The air is not hot yet, the morning sunlight streaming through the leaves of the tree above them.

"Mhm," Nat hums, unimpressed.

"Don't give me that, I got the footage to prove it."

Nat raises a delicate eyebrow at him.

"He does have videos." They both turn and Bucky waves at them. "Is that..."

Sam looks down at the headstone with a sigh. "Yeah, that's it."

"Now why would Fury fake his own death," Steve says as he rounds it.

"Well you know spies," Nat returns.

"Where's Clint?"

Nat points upward and Bucky follows her gesture. Clint salutes him from his perch on a branch.

"This is getting a little crowded for a secret meeting," Fury's voice travels to them as the man himself walks closer.

"Some of us had to skip the funeral," Nat throws.

"Sergeant, Captain, I see you recovered quickly."

Bucky shrugs and Steve shrugs and they're _them_. Steve's memory is spotty at best, still misses huge chunks of things, but Bucky's patience transfers over to him somewhat, mellowing his building frustration. Of course, they've been in the hospital for the past two weeks, with enough bullet holes to kill both of them twice over. Sam hasn't been shy commenting on the unfairness of their rapid healing. But he's also been there for them and Bucky cannot express how grateful he is for that.

"Sir," Steve says, "why are we here?"

A beat, and Fury nods as he shoves his hands in his pockets. "A new enemy has surfaced. Or an old one, as it is. Some of those betraying bastards are still out there." He tips his chin at the gravestone carrying his own name. "Needed the freedom to go after them. Anybody care to join me?"

"I think," Nat says, "that the Avengers need to fight their own way."

It earns him a knowing smile.

Bucky agrees.

Fury says his goodbyes shortly after they settle on a contact method, and Bucky turns to Nat.

"Home?" he asks. He really wants to be away from civilization right now, where he can process everything in peace and reconnect with Steve.

Clint flips himself back off the branch, wraps an arm around Bucky's shoulders. "Home. You realize we left food on the table and nobody was there to clean it up."

"Ew, Clint," Bucky groans.

"It is what it is," Clint shakes his head.

"What about me?" comes from Sam.

"You're coming with us," Nat says.

Bucky smiles while Steve falls into step on his other side.

"And why would I do that?"

"Tony's making you new wings."

A pause, then the sound of light running as Sam most likely catches up. "Tony as in Stark?"

"That's the one," Nat confirms.

"And why would he do that?"

"We take care of our own," Bucky says as they step into the sunlight.

~

It's been twelve days since they've been home. Steve shares Bucky's bedroom, while Sam's in the fourth. They found the place in a mess, but well... Steve managed to clean everything in less than 24 hours. By himself. With dedication. When Clint asked Bucky, while he was observing from the side and eating chips, if Steve was always like this, he got first flipped off, and then yelled at for getting crumbs on the sofa. Clint has stopped eating chips, much to Nat's delight.

It's 3am and the bed is empty next to Bucky. He gets up, walks quietly to the end of the hallway, then hefts himself out the window and up on the roof. Steve spares him a brief glance as Bucky settles next to him.

"Should get Clint to install a ladder," he whispers.

"I kinda like it up here," Steve returns.

"Another nightmare?"

A small sigh and a head shake. "I dreamed about Peggy."

Bucky finds himself staring at his own hands. Steve went to see her two days ago, Bucky's been right there for him, even though it still took a toll on both of them.

"I really love her, you know," Steve says.

Yeah, Bucky knows. He didn't want to face it, but he knows. Since he started to remember, Steve hasn't made any move toward Bucky. He was expecting it, but it still stings.

"Thing is," Steve continues, voice raspy and low, "I really love you, too. Like I love her."

He blinks fast, trying to push the mist away from his eyes. What is Steve saying...

"I didn't understand how that was possible, but Tasha showed me this website. Very informative. Buck?"

Bucky wipes at his cheek quickly. "What," he manages, swallowing against his closing throat.

"Why are you crying?"

"'m not crying," Bucky mumbles, but his nose betrays him with a sniffle.

"You didn't know," Steve breathes with sudden understanding. "I never told you, did I?"

Bucky is not sure he's hearing it right now. He shakes his head once and Steve's fingers are there on his cheek, warm and dry.

"Since when?"

Steve huffs, looking aside. "I think... we were seventeen. Or sixteen. And we went to a traveling carnival. You spent all our money trying to win this ugly bear for a girl. Dolores, you called her Dot. I was so–"

He stops, draws breath enough to fill his lungs, then lets it out slowly, and Bucky matches it. His heart pumps heavily in his chest, sending tendrils of ache through his bones.

"I cried all night that night," Steve continues, "'cos I wanted to be in Dot's place. That's when I knew I was in love with you."

The sound that makes its way out of Bucky's throat could be a laugh, could be a sob, could be both. He doesn't know anymore, not that it matters.

"I made her up," he says, quickly, before he loses his voice entirely. "I wanted that bear for you, but–" He waves helplessly. "I've been _loving you_."

Steve's eyes are wide and blue even in the low light of the half moon above their heads. He catches Bucky's hand gently, cradles it between his own palms and Bucky gets lost in the way Steve watches him.

"I miss your hair," Steve says. "You should stop bleaching it."

In his chest, Bucky's heart gives a pang, and he smacks at Steve's shoulder with his free hand. "Way to ruin the moment, jerk," he says, and turns to leave.

But Steve's hand around his wrist pulls him back. "Heyhey, Buck," a tug, "look at me."

"Wha–"

Oh.

Oh, the punk.

It's definitely a sob this time, that makes his way through his throat, but Steve swallows it.

He's waited the better part of a century to touch Steve's lips with his own.

It's better than any dream.

~

"Gonna get you back for that, you know," Bucky says later, as they're lying back on the tiles of the roof, watching the sunrise.

"For what?"

"Ruining my fun."

"Ah," Steve says, leaning up on an elbow. His face is open as he takes Bucky in. "You weren't breathing."

"Huh?"

"You stopped breathing, were getting lost in your own head. Had to pull you out."

Oh... Bucky inhales, shakily. He pulls Steve closer, places a peck on his lips. "You remember."

"Mhm," Steve hums with a smile. "Know what else I remembered?"

"What?"

"You're very ticklish, right under your ribs."

"Don't you dare," Bucky starts, already scooting away.

Steve's laugh is rich and warm.

~

"Samuel," Nat says from her place at the kitchen table, coffee mug in her hands, "pack a toothbrush. We're going on a trip."

"Who's we and why?"

Bucky brings another plate of eggs to the table, which Steve attacks without pause.

"Me, you, and Clint," Nat tells him.

Bucky eyes her warily. "Why?"

The smile she turns at him is full of meaning. Oh. Oh!

"Oh!" Sam snaps his fingers.

"Finish up," Nat says as she stands up, "and we're going. Get Clint some coffee to go, will ya?"

Clint mumbles something after her, but otherwise doesn't move.

"Just don't do it in the kitchen," she continues. "Or on the porch."

"Or in the living room," Sam adds.

"No basement, weapons there," Clint grumbles.

"We'll just stay in our room," Steve says and looks up at them with a smirk.

Bucky resists the urge to hide his face. But it's good. His cheeks are heated as he spares a glance at Steve.

It feels like... it feels like, finally...

He has his soul back.

~

~End~

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Art for Souls Alike](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7892938) by [CapCarterandSarge](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CapCarterandSarge/pseuds/CapCarterandSarge)
  * [[FANART] Souls Alike](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10435269) by [Snowflakesandangels](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snowflakesandangels/pseuds/Snowflakesandangels)




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